The Princess Training Diaries
by J-J-Sawyer-Phillips
Summary: Set in Storybrooke after their return from Neverland, Emma Swan and Killian Jones discover just how much they have in common... Whoever knew that a pirate would be the one to turn a bounty hunter into a proper princess? Disclaimer: This fic contains mature themes and strong language. Please head the rating warning. Cover image created by and used with the permission of Gaviotica31.
1. A Drink Called Loneliness

…_they're sharing a drink they call loneliness,_

_but it's better than drinking alone…_

Emma walks into the Rabbit Hole for the first time to get a drink. Normally, she'd just head over to Granny's where the usual supply caters to her need for adult refreshment, but there's just something about the way she feels tonight that makes her want to avoid the normal cheery faces at the beloved diner. Truth be told, she wants to be surrounded by something different, something unfamiliar. There's a wholesome cleanness, a warm and friendly atmosphere that's great and all, but in her current mood it strikes her as false, cloyingly sweet; she wants dirty, gritty, harsh, and real. After all the shit that went down in Neverland, you'd think she'd be craving a little normalcy, a little cheery brightness. But in its own way, the dive bar is entirely comfortable and familiar to her; it reminds her of her old life, the one where she didn't give a damn and didn't get hurt. A swanky, jazzed-up version of "People Are Strange," floats out of the jukebox near the pool table and cigarette smoke hangs in the air like old drapes. The drink specials are written on a blackboard that's so covered in chalk it's practically white now, and ancient fliers for ladies' night are still offering Jell-o shots of all things. The low lighting and the dark, dank smells remind her of all the shady, seedy places she would go hunting for bail jumpers. And even though a part of her is glad that she doesn't do that anymore, she finds that she misses the curious lack of pretension in hideouts like this; people of all shapes come here to forget their troubles, to stop pretending to be anything except the fucked-up loners and confidence men that they really are on the inside…And right now, even if it's only for an hour or so, she wants to shed away all of the constricting skins, the rigid masks that are holding her down right now.

Mother. Henry had managed to survive Neverland somehow, escaping from Greg and Tamara, hiding out with Mermaids and Selkies of all creatures. But he'd also been scarred, his childhood cut short—by Neal's death, the constant threat of discovery and capture, and then Regina and Rumplestiltskin's near misses with death. Apparently, their magic worked just fine in that hell dimension… unfortunately, every successive spell cast made the magician weaker and weaker, draining them of life and vitality. Not that it had affected her, but then again, she hadn't been using her magic to turn Shadows and Lost Ones into actual, still-living Roman Candles. Despite being warned that healing spells were far too complex for her limited discipline, she'd brought them back from the brink, for Henry's sake. She'd used more magic in fixing their bodies than she ever had before, and with no dreaded price coming due just yet, Emma was on pins and needles. And now, the kid had terrible nightmares no matter which house he was in or how many lights were left on the dispel the ghosts in his mind. Sleep and rest were strangers in the Swan/Nolan apartment, leaving everyone emotionally and physically exhausted; but a worried Emma most of all.

Daughter. She and her parents had bonded, strangely enough. They had supported her when she had broken down, instinctively knowing she would need to. Emma had spent her entire life looking for her family, and just when she thought everything was going great and becoming a normal family routine, Neal had been killed by his faux-fiancé and then Henry had been taken. But the establishment of a new rapport with Mom and Dad had come with a price—namely, Snow's persistent attempts to get her to talk about her feelings and her relationships. Primarily her failed romance with Neal, but also her growing friendship with a certain Captain. David had been less pushy, less touchy-feely; but she could sense that deep down, he was missing the kind of father-daughter connection that only comes with being there from day one. It was a silent, unbearable pressure, and it was driving her up the walls. She missed her best friend, Mary Margaret, but also Ruby, Ashley, and Belle; they'd all been too preoccupied with their own lives and troubles to listen to Emma's. So, as much as they had steadily been growing closer, she once again feels a gap widening between them; there's so much that they missed out on, so is it even possible for them to ever fully understand her?

Sheriff. The moment they had gotten back… Well, coming home to a fully re-established war counsel, hell-bent on finding a way to restore magic to Anton's charred bean field had been interesting to say the least. The dwarves had found more fairy dust, but it wasn't enough for what they needed. And apparently, David's adoptive father and King Midas had banded together for a hostile take-over of the town. Thankfully, the council members—led by Belle, Granny, Archie, and Leroy—had managed to rally enough troops to suppress the rebellion; but plenty of people had been lost or injured during the intense street warfare, and a lot of homes and businesses had been destroyed. It was a cluster-fuck of epic proportions, and one that everyone seemed that she would magically fix immediately (no pun intended). She was the Savior, she who had brought back all their happy endings… Surely reestablishing law and order as well as tracking down the criminals was an easy feat after something like that!

Because being all things to everyone is _nowhere_ near simple, Emma sits down next to an old man at the bar who has a gin and tonic cradled close to his chest, hoping that there's enough Jack or Johnny behind the counter to quiet the voices for a little while. She orders two doubles and quickly slams back the first, savoring the harsh fire that slides from her throat down to her belly and then all the way back up her spine. The harsh bite of the alcohol stings the very tip of her tongue before coating her mouth in a pleasant, buzzing numbness. She loves the way the whiskey hits her system, releasing all the tension in her neck and shoulders almost immediately. Because she's been so busy, running around putting out metaphorical fires and taking care of everyone else's problems, she hadn't gotten the chance to eat anything since breakfast. So, the liquor numbs her up quickly, making her feel just a little bit as if she's floating. _"…faces come out of the rain, when you're strange; and no one remembers your name, when you're strange…"_

She lifts the second glass in a toast to the oblivious old man. "Here's to forgetting my own fucking name for a while."

A throaty chuckle sounds next to her right ear and a wall of heat is suddenly at her back as the sip from her second double slides down just a touch more sensually than the first. Instead of the numbness, the lack of awareness she came searching for, her body has become hyper-sensitive to everything. A familiar voice purrs out low, a rumbling she can feel vibrating through the air and along her skin. "As if that were even possible, lass."

Normally, she would control the shiver that his presence and words send skittering across every inch of her skin, but the whiskey already has a hold on her. She fights the glide of his voice, like the soft brush of a hand up her spine, but she can't control the flush of heat followed by goose-bumps that race along her neck and chest. Nor can she infuse quite enough venom and steel into her words to counteract her breathy delivery. "I don't know about that, Hook. Some cat must have dragged _your_ ass in out of the rain tonight, so why shouldn't the rest of the song come true?"

She throws back the rest of her double and motions the bartender for another. Killian Jones slides onto the stool next to her, smoothly, like he does everything else. She scoffs internally at the thought, but can't deny the truth of it. In the short amount of time they've been back in Maine, he's completely adapted to modern life and modern clothing. Mostly. He reaches into the pocket of his black leather pants and pulls out a stack of gold coins, placing it on the bar. _Who the fuck in Storybrooke sells pants like __**that**__?! Because, damn!_

"Just set down a bottle of rum for me, mate. And this should cover whatever the lady's drinking." The bartender doesn't flinch, doesn't blink, doesn't tell him that you need American dollar bills to buy your alcohol here; he just slips his hand over the doubloons and puts the requested bottle and a glass in their place. Jones pours himself a good measure before clinking his glass against hers and staring at her over the rim. "Having a reputation across the realms for cruelty and barbarism tends to encourage people to see things your way rather quickly, princess."

He takes a healthy swallow of his own particular poison, tongue darting out lazily and swiping up the bit that lingers on his lips. For a moment, all she can do is stare and remember, but then the grin that starts to tug at the edges reminds her that she's not even supposed to be looking, never mind obsessively thinking about touching. "I'll pay for my own drinks, Hook. Thanks. I already owe you for the ride to Neverland and your help finding Henry; I don't like having debts hanging over my head."

"And just who says you're obligated to me in any way, love? I don't recall asking for any favors, or demanding payment for the… liberal use you made of my many considerable talents and services." His eyes shine with mischief as Emma finally glances his direction; a mistake, because now she can help but take in and appreciate how good he looks. She can tell from the cut, quality of leather, and the zipper that the pants are _definitely_ not the ones he wore on the ship. They also fit like a second skin, making her wonder how the hell he got anything into his pocket, let alone a ton of ancient coins. Black t-shirt, black button-down that he's left open, and black leather jacket complete his normal monochromatic look. It's a good color for him, but worse, he knows it.

"The fact that you haven't asked for anything just makes me more concerned; so while we're on the subject, what is it that you want, Hook?" Emma tosses back more whiskey, tongue sweeping out to catch the stray drops that fall on her lips. His eyes track the movement, but stay focused on her now glistening skin. She grins herself, pleased that despite the alcohol, she's more than a match for him in this game.

"For starters, I'll have you use the name I introduced myself with. If I'm to truly give up on my quest for revenge against Rumplestiltskin, I believe it's time to set the old alias aside. Especially with you. Second, stop acting like we weren't best mates there, lass. You used to enjoy drinking and having a laugh with me, and don't say it was the lack of company and the constant danger. But you've been off hunting down Midas and George all bloody day and night since we returned… So, I've missed you, love. I used to see you nearly every second of every day, and now, I might as well be a phantom for all the attention I get in this town. Most people here fear me, the rest avoid me. But you've always treated me like the man and not some legend. Is it so hard to believe that I miss that? That I miss _you_?"

Emma feels a stab of guilt at his words. He's right—practically every night when everyone else went to sleep, Killian Jones had stayed up with her so she didn't have to drink alone. Rum had lead to stories about their respective pasts, his as a corsair and hers on both sides of the law. It had also led to games of Pieces-of-Eight (quarters being in short supply on the Jolly Roger), truth or dare, and singing contests… He'd managed to help her forget the seriousness of the situation and have fun for a change, all while keeping his flirting to a minimum. But the moment she had gotten Henry back home, he'd returned somewhat to his normal overly-amorous self. Combined with her old feelings and new ones regarding the pirate… well, it had been easier to throw herself into work and pretend to be busy just so she could avoid him.

But she knows that giving in to him, telling him that he's right will only make him more overbearing and persuasive. "You've just missed having a captive audience." She reaches for her next glass, but he puts his hand over the top of it.

"Lying to yourself again, princess? I thought we were done with attempting to deceive each other."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You kissed me, Emma." He quietly lets the words sink in to her alcohol buzz, enough that she knows that the bartender heard everything before he less than stealthily walked away. She mutters a curse and drops her head into her hands. "All the lies in the world won't make me disappear, love. _You_ cornered _me_ in _my_ cabin, backed _me_ up against the wall, and kissed _me_. You can't go back to pretending after something like that, lass. Not now that I know you want me as much as I desire you. But more to the point, I won't let you."

His good hand clamps around her arm, managing to both lift and spin her toward him at the same time. There's more whiskey in her system than she's had in a long time and it's combined with an empty stomach, so her legs wobble, sending her straight into his arms. "What d'you think you're doing?"

"Claiming my reward and clearing your debt. All I want is for you to dance with me, sweet Emma. Just one dance, and then we meet as equals on even ground." He reaches around to the hand that grabbed his waist when she fell and pulls it to his chest, leaving the other on his left arm. He snakes his hook around her back, pressing her closer as they rock back and forth to the music.

"Can't dance, Jones. You saw how long it took me to walk on your ship without falling on my ass."

"Well luckily for you, I _can_. Just let me lead, love. I'll take care of everything. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Or your exquisitely perfect ass." True to his word, he never lets her go and doesn't let her trip and fall. Her body fits perfectly with his, surrounded by his arms and his heat. She hasn't really had the need or a chance to think about it in a long time, but it always surprises her how warm he is compared to her. Too many cold nights alone have left her unprepared, yearning, for the consuming fire that is Killian Jones. _"…like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more. Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you…"_

The words of the song swirl briefly through her mind, but she's much too distracted to focus on the music. His eyes are like deep pools of water, except hot and boiling intensely; she's always been afraid that if she fell into them, she'd either burn up or drown. And right now, neither fate seems like a bad way to go. "See anything you like, lass?" His words distract her, pulling her gaze and her thoughts down to his lips. She knows that he'll taste like rum, dark and spicy, that his tongue will feel warm and sweet against hers. She bites down on her lower lip and moans, remembering just how good that one kiss made her feel, how much she'd wanted more.

"Gods, Emma, why are you fighting this? Do you think I can't tell exactly how much you want me? You think I can't smell your desire? I can sense it, just under your perfume, love. It's earthy and intoxicating, especially knowing that it's because of me." He slips his hand down her ass, fingers toying with the edge of her too-short skirt, flirting near the top of her thigh-high tights. "If I touched you, I'd bet my ship that you'd already be wet from all that need that's been building up inside you. Would you like that, lass? Do you want me to find out right here, right now whether or not you're ready, just aching for me? What is it you _want_ from me?"

She can't stop the trembling in her whole body, or what his light touch and his words are doing to her. He's rolled his hips forward into hers more than once, so she knows that the primal sexual need flowing through the air isn't one-sided. She whimpers when the tip of one finger brushes the silky skin of her thigh. Even with whiskey in her system, she can't quite explain what she needs, and her silence is clearly frustrating him and draining away the last of his patience. Gripping her tighter with his left arm, he reaches up and wraps her long ponytail around his hand. He watches her eyes start to glaze over with pleasure as he pulls her hair smoothly, yet firmly, and knows with sudden clarity what she really wants from him. She's pushed him to his breaking point not because she doesn't know, but because no one has ever realized that she needs to be pushed back in return; any others who tried to play this game with her came up against her iron will and retreated. They didn't realize the molten heat beneath the steel core that would cause her to bend—if they knew what they were doing. He bends down closer to her ear, lips and tongue softly teasing the shell and lobe. He grips her wrist in his hand and wrenches her arm high against her back, while trapping her inescapably against his body. "Do you want me to just take what I want from you, sweet Emma? Shall I pluck your strings as I choose? Is that what you desire from me?"

When she finally speaks, her voice comes out in the neediest, sexiest whisper he's ever heard. "God, yes." He tugs harshly, tightening his grip on her arm and pulling a mewl of pleasure from the back of her throat.

"Yes what, princess?"

"Yes, Killian. I want you to take me."

He growls in her ear before licking the skin right behind it, causing her to shiver even more. "Normally, I prefer "captain," love, but I think this time I'll make an exception. I've been longing to hear you say my name just like that, and I'm going to thoroughly enjoy making you use it over, and over, and over. And over." The song ends, but their dance is far from done.

He keeps his hook and left arm around her waist, practically dragging her out of the Rabbit Hole and into the night. As soon as they make it outside, he pins her back against the brick wall, kissing her roughly. She moans around his tongue, loving the hot, spicy taste of him, a combination now of rum and whiskey. Just as unexpectedly as he started it, he ends the kiss, pulling her back into his body and striding quickly down the dark streets toward the docks. In no time at all, they are climbing aboard his ship; he offers her his hand, a gentleman as always. But instead of helping her step down onto the deck, he uses her temporary height advantage to wrap her legs around his waist. Emma lets out a little yelp of surprise; she only does it because she's been drinking, and he thinks it's the most adorable thing she's ever done. But he refuses to let his softer emotions out with her just yet. She wants him to dominate and control her now…the time for more gentle persuasion will be later.

He puts her back against the mainmast, grinding his hips up into hers. "Do you have any idea how often I pictured us right here, lass? Having you absolutely, gloriously bare beneath the sunlight or starlight? Hearing you crying out in pleasure along with the harmony of the waves and the wind? I went to bed hard every night after you left my cabin, wanting more than anything to drag you back and fuck you senseless. And yet every night, you came back, knowing what you did to me, leaving me unsated, unsatisfied. Didn't you? No fucking lies tonight, Emma! Every word that passes through those lips had better be truth."

He pulls her head back, forcing her to look at him. "I didn't want to know, but I did. I was afraid to feel, and I knew I couldn't hide it from you. So I kept pretending because pretending is safe."

"And how safe do you feel now, princess? Are you afraid of me?"

"Yes. Because you make me feel alive, Killian. I've been surviving for so long that I've forgotten what really living feels like. And I'm terrified that once I start again, you'll leave me."

He kisses her roughly again, their moans and whimpers ringing, intertwining in the night air in the most glorious symphony he's ever heard. "I've waited for you for hundreds of years, love. And I've spent the last six months and more fighting for you, so I bloody well won't be packing it in any time soon. You hear me, Swan? I'm going to play you tonight, make you sing for me. You're a fucking glorious instrument, Emma, and I will discover every note, every high and low that you are capable of producing. And when I'm done, you'll be so absolutely fucking ruined that no one else will do. Only fools put their mark where other's can see—I'm going to brand your very soul, princess, and you will damn well love every minute of it."

He lets her stand for a second before kneeling down and tipping her over his shoulder. Emma giggles. "Isn't this the part where my bosoms should be heaving and I swoon in your arms? Kind of hard to do with a shoulder bone in my stomach." He slaps her ass, catching the exposed skin at the tops of her thigh-highs, causing her to moan out his name. When he finally enters the cabin, he kicks the door shut behind them and sets her back on her feet. He ensures that she's steady, but then stalks away from her over to his desk. He rummages through the middle drawer, shooting her a warning glare to stay put when she starts to walk toward him. Silently, she watches him as he goes around to all of the lanterns, lighting them and adjusting the wicks, all without a word. Once he finishes with the last one, he faces her.

He cocks his head to the side, as if studying her of the angles of the light. He nods to himself, satisfied, then goes back to his desk, sits in his chair, and props up his feet. "You will obey every order without question or commentary. You will use my proper name, or my rank if you prefer. You will only speak when I give you leave, and no lies. This is your last chance to back out, Swan; and even though it pains me to be on this side of the room, I do not want to risk any possibility of coercion or misunderstandings between us, darling. Do you accept these terms?"

The intensity, the command in his voice only contribute to the pulsing need in her belly. "Yes, Killian. Please-"

In an instant he is by her side again, hand fisted around her ponytail. "You'll do plenty more begging before the night is out, lass. Before we begin, I imagine you'll say the word "stop" more than once, although "don't" will probably be attached to it somewhere. So you know you can stop me at any time, what is your Safe word?" His grin actually reminds her of Ruby, wolfish and hungry.

"Ocean."

"Good. Now then, lass. Strip for me." He leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching her expectantly. Emma nods, but then flashes him a wicked grin of her own before sashaying over to his desk. She stops about a yard away, sliding her right foot up along her left leg and kicking it up to rest on the solid edge. Slowly, she runs both hands down the sides of her thigh to her knee, the left catching the zipper and letting it come undone. She slips her foot out, pointing her toes and tossing the boot to the side. She repeats the same slow removal with the left, knowing that he's getting a peek at her black, lacy panties for the first time. She turns around, leaning firmly against the edge. The coat and scarf hit the floor quickly, but she takes her time with the shirt, sliding her hands along her stomach and breasts.

Killian hasn't moved a millimeter, but his breathing is becoming shallower and more rapid. Hooking her thumbs in the band of one of her tights, she rolls down and removes one and then the other. Down to just her skirt, bra, and panties, he finally moves away from the wall. Tugging at the zipper at her side, he moves back around the desk. "This next love, then leave the rest on."

She grins to herself, letting her chest follow her hands as she's slipping the skirt down her legs. But she turns around quickly when she hears the clanking of something metal hitting the desk. He's on his knees, clearly securing the end of a chain somewhere, when she recognizes the manacle attached. AND the handcuffs sitting next to it. She almost asks him if that's what she thinks it is, but remembers just in time that she's not allowed to speak. She looks at him and sees him watching her, a slight pout forming. "Damn! I was really looking forward to punishing you for a slip of the tongue. Well, soon enough I suppose. These, are because you seemed quite fond of using them at the infirmary—even after you knew I could pick them. And this, is to give you a visual reminder for whenever you find yourself chained to your desk at work."

He locks the handcuffs around her wrists, careful to leave some give, kissing the palm of each hand before placing them flat on the wooden surface. Next, he closes the manacle around the small chain that links her cuffs together, which reaches just to the edge of the desk when pulled taut. There's nothing within her reach that can help her pick any of these locks; she is entirely at his mercy. Instead of feeling trapped or frightened, Emma is insanely turned on at the thought of being helpless with this man; because, in a way, she never had a prayer of escaping this moment with him. Destiny. Inevitability. As the savior, these words frighten her; with Killian, they make all the sense in the world.

"Don't fight a single sound or reaction, Swan. I want to know exactly how what I'm doing to you is making you feel." He nudges at her leg with one of his booted feet, indicating to spread them wider apart. She gasps and her fingernails dig into the wood when he thrusts his hips into her ass, letting her feel his erection through his leather and her lace. He slides the cool metal curve of his hook up her spine, sending chills across her skin and making her nipples even harder. She drops her head and whimpers at the torture, cautiously rubbing back against him to feel his hardness and his heat near her core. He slaps her ass roughly, forcing a cry from her lips. "You only think you're ready and eager now, princess…"

Emma loses all track of time. The only measures are the things that Killian is doing to her body: spanking her roughly, then running a soothing hand along the reddened skin; undoing her bra and letting it remain where it falls, at her elbows; massaging and pinching her nipples with his good hand, or rolling steel against them as they strain, impossibly hard for the merest touch; lightly slapping the front of her wet panties, flickering touches to her clit that have her wound impossibly tight; talking all the while in detail about every little thing before he does it, heightening her anticipation and the sensations when he finally puts action to his words. Over and over again, she says his name, begging him.

"Say it, lass. What is it you want from me?" He pulls her head back at a painful angle, but Emma is lost in the haze already—any change is pure ecstasy.

"Please, Killian. Please take me. Please fuck me, Killian, because I need you so badly." Then, blissfully, she hears him swear under his breath and his clothes hitting the floor. He tugs at her hips, ripping the panties off of her with his hook and slamming his cock inside her. She screams his name, an orgasm hitting her at the feel of him fully inside her. But instead of letting her float on the high, he forces her to ride it hard, thrusting deep and hitting that perfect spot over and over. She digs her fingernails into the wood of his desk, the only connection to the world she has except for him. She bites her lower lip, desperately trying to stay quiet, but every time her pussy contracts around him, every time his cock fills and stretches her to her limits, she can't help but whimper or mewl like a creature in heat. She was already dripping from the spanking, but now she can feel her juices slowly slipping down her thighs. He reaches down around her waist, chest pressed fully against her back, and rubs her folds and clit with his hook. She moans at the difference in temperature and the feel of his weight against her; she's even more trapped that she was a moment ago, and she fucking loves it!

He straightens up, causing her to cry out at the loss of his heat. She doesn't see it, but he flicks his tongue along the curved steel, tasting her, before smearing her own desire along the skin of her ass. She's a vision of sweat-sheened skin and tumbled curls, arms and back stretched out like she's abased herself, supplicant to some ancient deity. Her ecstasy a result of his worship of her body. "Gods, princess! So hot, wet, and tight. Tell me you've been dreaming about this."

"Yes, Killian, every fucking night. Even when we were on this ship, sleeping on that shitty bunk, I thought about coming back in here and letting you do this to me! I—I—I've wanted you since—the Enchanted Forest! You saw me, and wanted me, not the savior, but me. No one has ever made me feel wanted like that. And God! When you came after us to Storybrooke, I knew. I knew that one day, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from letting you fuck me. Oh, god, Killian!"

He presses his chest to her back, still pumping into her ruthlessly, changing the angle of his penetration. He buries the tip of his hook in the desk next to her hand, using it as leverage to thrust harder still; he's all but lifting her off her feet every single time, forcing her up on tiptoe. Every thrust forces a moan, a curse, his name past her lips. At the perfect instant, he bites down into her left shoulder and pinches her clit simultaneously. "Killian!" If her first orgasm was a thunderstorm, this one is a tsunami. She clenches so tight around him that he has no choice but to join her. Stars explode behind both their eyes, and he catches her before she can collapse to the floor. Despite being entirely blind from the intensity of it all, he manages to drape them both across his desk before temporarily blacking out himself.

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She wakes up to the feel of cool linen sheets beneath her back and a particularly sensual pair of lips brushing along her wrist. She opens her eyes and hot blue ones are watching her intently. "Welcome back home, princess."

There's so much happiness and love in those four words… The old Emma Swan would be panicked, running for the hills by now. But she only smiles up at him, brushing the longer strands of hair away from his face before leaning up to capture his lips with hers. "It's good to be home."


	2. The Beginning

Emma wakes up in a pirate's bed that seems to be missing its pirate at the moment. She stretches her muscles, noticing that they're sore in the best way possible: like she's had a great work-out or been thoroughly fucked, both of which are emphatically true. The strangest part about it all is that there's no guilt or shame attached to her memories of what happened last night. She doesn't regret letting the infamous Captain Hook chain her up, or any of the other erotic things she let him do. The breaking down of her walls, the destruction of the dam holding back the sexual tension could have happened between them any number of ways, but deep down, she knows that this way was best. She has so many people who rely on her to be in charge, to always be the one with the answers, to always be in control… For once, she was able to just be herself—uncertain and scared and desperate for someone else to have the power. It felt liberating because it was what she wanted and needed. She didn't have to have all the answers; she didn't need to be anyone's savior; she just gave herself over to the feelings that Emma Swan had denied existed for far too long. Every single moment last night had been devoted to exploring the extremes of pleasure that Killian and she could reach together.

She notices a folded piece of parchment on his pillow with her name scrawled on the outside.

_My dearest Swan,_

_ I had thought to wake you slowly, kissing my way down that exquisite body of yours before burying my tongue in your quim and tasting you for the first time. Alas, you looked so peaceful in repose that I couldn't bear to rouse you. Rest assured, lass, I am eagerly awaiting the moment you do awaken so that we may continue your training. Cast a concealment spell over the ship and then come to me precisely as you are._

_K. Jones_

Emma cannot stop the frisson of excitement and anticipation that flows down her spine. She's always been so controlled, so in control of everything in her life, ever since Neal… Not only is her attraction to Killian unexpected in its intensity, so is her absolutely overwhelming desire to please him. She's not sick and twisted to want his dominance; she just feels a fierce need to bring pleasure and light to a man who has spent so much time in darkness and despair. And she knows him well enough that he has secret thoughts and yearnings of his own lurking beneath the surface. She's seen the whip scars on his back, and there are far too many to account for any insubordinations on his part when he was younger. He told her the story of his mother's death and his father's betrayal. His life could never be described as anything except harsh, in more ways than the one's he's willingly shared.

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"_I know that we more or less agreed you were the one in charge here, but I swear Jones, if you don't get that amazingly sexy ass of your back here right this second, I'm using my magic to turn you into a frog!" After breaking away from their kiss, he had all but leaped out of bed, rummaging through his desk as if there wasn't an insanely horny (still!) and thoroughly naked princess in his bed. Emma sits up all the way, letting his sheets pool around her waist, and begins pouting at him adorably. He chuckled at her threat, but his face sobers a bit when she wiggles her fingers at him. He quirks an eyebrow questioningly, but seems to have found what he was looking for. His expression then shifts to calculating as he stalks toward the bed, a swagger in every step that emphasizes the pull and release of his thigh muscles, focusing Emma's attention on his groin. He grins at her distraction and the way her tongue darts out across her lips; it's a sensual, yet innocent expression that lights up her face, as if she's thinking about his cock like it's a sweet treat. Now that she's hiding and denying nothing, she's even easier to read._

"_Just my ass? Besides, love, you do realize that you will then be forced to kiss said frog in order to break the spell. Magic can do terrible things to a man… I might be out of commission for days, weeks even. Unable to service you in the slightest of ways. And wouldn't that be positively tragic for you?" He draws close, kneeling on the bed in front of her, barely brushing his nose along hers. But then he sits, snags her right hand with his hook, and sets a small tin on the sheets next to him. "Help a one-handed man, would you love?"_

_She frowns, but does what he asks, opening the tin to reveal a clean smelling ointment of some kind. "What is this?"_

"_Something to make sure your skin doesn't scar. It's something I concocted in Neverland; soothes burns, especially ones caused by recalcitrant princesses pulling too hard on their restraints." He clucks his tongue as he examines the spots where some of her skin was rubbed raw by the handcuffs, but then dips his fingers into the ointment and massages it into the reddened flesh. Just like on the beanstalk when he cleaned and wrapped her cut hand, Emma is flustered at the care and attention inherent in his gesture—flustered and terribly aroused. She doesn't think he means it to have this effect on her, but the painful truth is that even simple touches are rare for her. Sure, she's gotten better at touching others or receiving hugs, but someone else touching her skin is entirely different; and she can feel a growing hunger for more after years of denying herself this particular pleasure._

"_And how would you know that it works in this particular instance?" She's breathless from his ministrations, but also slightly afraid of the answer. It's one thing to know in theory that your lover has been with a lot of women in his 300 plus years…_

"_Because I have personal experience with the kinds of wounds restraints can leave. And you've seen and felt the scars on my back, love." He turns his wrist a bit so she can see the old, silvered skin where it healed imperfectly. "I swore that no woman of mine would ever suffer any permanent damage while being submissive to me. Others I have come across were neither so considerate nor kind. No more talk of that for tonight, lass."_

_He wags a finger at her when she would have pursued another line of questioning. Instead, he places the top back on the tin and tosses it onto the floor. She giggles at his carelessness, but stops when she notices just how close his face is to hers and how intense his focus on her has become. "Now, I believe my services were required by my princess?"_

_She nods her head slightly before opening her mouth to his kiss. In direct contrast to everything else that happened tonight, he slowly tastes her. Other than barely-there, inadvertent brushes of his chest against hers, they only touch each other with their lips and where his hand rests on her cheek. It's a gentle, thorough exploration that has her breathless and seeing stars within minutes. Despite two orgasms the literally rocked her world, Emma finds that her body, like her mind, is not quite done with her pirate yet. She whimpers, a sound full of frustration and longing as she pulls back a bit from his lips. "Please."_

_He has the nerve to smirk before plunging his tongue back into her mouth and thoroughly ravaging her. She's always prided herself on her own self-control, but it's torture and takes everything within her to stay put and not touch him. "Please what, Emma love?"_

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Oh, yes… Killian Jones definitely has his darker desires, but like the gentleman he is, he's seeing to hers first. She lost count of how many times he made her come last night, and the final one had shattered her so completely that she slipped over the edge into a sated, exhausted sleep. But despite his clearly unwavering focus on her pleasure, she can't resist being a little cheeky, or testing his limits in some way. She takes a deep breath, willing the magic out of her body and around the ship. It's not entirely comfortable or easy for her, but Regina and Rumplestiltskin both promised that with time, it will just feel natural to her. Spell in place, she pulls the sheet off his bed and wraps it around her torso before heading up on deck. For once, the sun is shining and it actually feels a touch warm, but she's still grateful for the little protection that the soft linen provides. The breeze is fresh and salty, stirring her tumbled curls playfully and tugging the fabric around and against her body.

"I believe that you were given very specific instructions, princess. One of the first things you must learn is to control your natural impulse to do whatever notion suits your mood and fancy. A proper lady obeys without question or hesitation when her master issues a command." She starts to turn, but he moves fast enough to catch her off-guard again. His left arm and hook slip around her waist, and his hand forces her chin up and to the right, the angle just this side of uncomfortable. He runs his thumb over her lips, eyes darkening as he stares down at her. "Insubordination results in punishment, princess. We will discuss your disobedience and appropriate chastisement later. For now, how did you sleep, love?"

She smiles and closes her eyes, reveling in the feel of his calluses on the soft skin of her jaw and cheek and leaning further into the touch like a cat rubs against its owner. "Slept good. After reading your note, I feel very sorry for not waking up before you though."

He smiles and places a gentle, chaste kiss on her lips, holding her carefully yet firmly in place with his hand. His eyes are still dark with lust, but they manage to sparkle playfully as well. "And what would you have done if you had risen before me, lass?"

"With your permission, Captain?" She quirks an eyebrow at him, waiting for his approval; he chuckles, not quite sure what game she's playing at, and nods his agreement. Part of the roles they have chosen requires not complete abjection or lack of agency on her part, but rather on him allowing or agreeing to her choices. She grabs his hook with her left hand, using it to help peel away the sheet as she walks toward the mast, towing him along with her. She hears him swallow and try to stifle a curse when she's completely naked in the sunlight.

"If I had woken up first, I'm sure I would have just watched you for a while. I don't think I've ever seen you completely relaxed before, and I would hope that after giving me an orgasm so intense that I passed out you would have had a pretty damn amazing one as well." She looks at him questioningly as she gently backs him up against the mast. He leans toward her, briefly brushing his nose against hers before nipping at her earlobe.

"The best ever, love."

She places her hands on his chest and carefully pushes him back, her smile brighter than he's ever seen it. "Good to know. But if I was up first, I wouldn't have known that. And it would have been slowly eating at my mind whether or not it had been as good for you as it was for me. I wouldn't have had all these laces to undo, so I would have just started by gently stroking back and forth. Barely even touching you, just using my fingertips, really. But then I would have reached down a little further…"

His breath hisses through his teeth; he's been so distracted by the visual image she's been painting for him that he didn't realize just how quickly she did away with the laces in question. _Next time, the bloody Minx'll_ _have to use her teeth!_ She's being incredibly gentle, cupping his balls and carefully massaging one and then the other with her thumb. Her movements also cause her arm to just barely brush against his aching, straining shaft. "And do you know what I'd have to do next, Killian? I'd just have to taste you because there have been times, alone at night, when I imagined just how it would feel to wrap my lips around your cock. It's not something I normally think about or want to do for a man, but I've never been able to get that question out of my head—what does he taste like? Can I satisfy my curiosity, Killian?"

It's as if she's reading his mind, knowing what he has planned for her later. But gods have mercy on him if it isn't the single most sensual thing he's ever experienced—a princess begging _him_ if she can get down on her knees to pleasure him! He pulls her close and kisses her, invading and plundering her mouth with his tongue. She latches on to him and starts humming, something he's never had a woman do with him in all his years. Suddenly, he's frantic to allow her to do exactly what she wants. He breaks away from her and whispers, "gods, yes!"

Emma immediately complies, gracefully kneeling and looking up at him. She never breaks eye contact with him as she grips the base with her right hand and slowly slides the length of his cock into her mouth. It takes all of his considerable will-power not to shout because nothing has ever felt as good as the warm heat of his Swan. Last night she had been frantic and uncontrolled, but this is something else entirely. Her movements and actions are all tentative and curious, like someone who has rarely or never done something like this for a lover. He sees even more submission in the act, which makes each lick of her tongue, each nip of her teeth, each moan of pleasure that much more exquisite to him. Only he has been allowed to see her like this, a thought that fills him with primal, masculine satisfaction.

Watching his cock slide in and out of her mouth nearly undoes him, but he can't look away from the enjoyment, the pure bliss on her face. Her cheeks are flushed and rosy, her eyes often closed in savoring her own pleasure, but more often than not, she's looking up, green eyes open and drinking in his every response. And gods her lips! Soft and pliant to his kiss, they wrap around his shaft and head as tight as the hand that's working his base—a double assault on him that has his mind spinning. "Spread your legs wide and lean back a touch, princess. I want to watch you pleasure yourself while you continue to pleasure me."

He sees a flash of defiance and annoyance cross her features, but a raised eyebrow from him assures her compliance. She leans back, ass now resting on her bare feet as she spreads herself open. He can see her folds and clit are flushed, red and pink, and her thighs glisten slightly with sweat and her own wetness. He gently digs his fingers into her hair, guiding her mouth back to the tip, controlling how she takes him. He watches as her own fingers slip down between her legs, coating them in her juices. "Imagine mine in their place, love. What would I do to you?"

Despite the shallowness of his thrusts, he can feel her lips form a smile around him. Her left hand, which had been resting on his thigh for balance, moves down to join its mate. She parts her folds and plunges two fingers inside herself, thrusting and circling them before pulling them out all the way. She's showing him just how wet it's made her, just how turned on she gets by sucking on his cock. She continues, using her left thumb to rub her clit while riding her own fingers. And when she starts humming again, he gets so close to the edge and realizes that if he has any intentions of continuing her "education," he needs to stop her erotic assault on his senses. When he pulls out of her mouth, he does so unexpectedly, causing her to make a loud, wet pop.

Emma starts to laugh, and, as much as it pains him to, he places a finger against her now red and swollen lips. "Hush, love. Wouldn't want you making so much noise and rendering your little concealment spell useless." She starts to smile, until she hears the busy sounds of the marina around them. Fishermen are walking back and forth along the docks, heading to and from their boats. The shift is changing at the cannery. All around them, dozens of people are completely oblivious to the presence of the Jolly Roger and what is occurring on its deck.

"The next part of teaching you proper decorum for a lady is the value of silence and discretion." He helps her up to her feet and leads her up the steps toward the helm. "I'm going to fuck you, princess, right here. So that every bloody time I go anywhere on my ship, I can remember the feel of your hot, tight pussy. But, you have to remember to be quiet. If anyone guesses that you are here, if anyone hears you, then I'll have to punish you some more. Understood?"

Emma nods, whimpering slightly when he wraps one of her legs around his waist and rubs his erection against her. "Ssshhh…" This is all the warning he gives her before impaling her on his cock. She throws her head back on a silent scream as he thrust into her, hard and high. She can't help the occasional whimper or moan because of how fast and wild he is, bucking up into her. But not only this, she's still tight after years of self-denial, and he has her stretched and filled to her limits. She can feel him hitting that perfect spot, every single time, as if he has a map to all the pleasure zones on her body. All she can do is hold on and ride him, clinging to him desperately with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. And then he slips his hand down to her clit, and she starts seeing stars.

They're both panting now, quietly sharing every breath. The world continues to move around them, but they are oblivious to everything except for the point where their bodies are locked tight together. Emma has no idea where all of this stamina is coming from, because rather than slowing down, his thrust are coming on stronger and deeper than before. She whimpers, leaning forward to create some more friction, but also to plead for his kiss. When he invades her mouth, she latches on to his tongue with her teeth, then sucks on it hard, as if it were his cock; her moan is mostly captured by him, but the mewling sounds coming out of her throat are becoming more urgent. She can feel her walls start fluttering, starting to clench around him. "I'm close, so close. Please let me come, Killian. Please come with me." She whispers it, but she might just as well have shouted; they've been so cautious in their desperation that any words sound louder than they are. His next few thrusts drive her back painfully into the wood of the helm, but they are perfectly timed to bring on her orgasm and his.

Like the night before, they positively collapse from the power of their combined release. He manages to kneel and bring her with him before they both sprawl together on the deck. While trying to slow their breathing and recover, they hear several pairs of footstep on the docks nearby.

"…Well there goes that plan."

"David, maybe she just needed some time away. Who knows? She seemed to enjoy sailing, and they DID become good friends. Maybe they just took his ship out for a bit?"

"It's not like Emma to just waltz off on her own without a word to anyone. She has responsibilities, Snow!"

"That's just it, David! She isn't used to everyone needing her 24/7! She'll be fine…"

The Charmings' voice and footsteps fade off into the distance, allowing Killian and Emma to breathe again. "Well, love, as much as I'll admit I want all and sundry to know that you're mine, I must say I'm pleased we were quiet enough that I don't need to ask for your hand at sword point."

She laughs, a sound that does funny things to his heart and his groin. His princess crawls over to him, straddles his hips, and leans down to kiss his nose. "Who says I'd have you, pirate?" She barely stifles a shriek and a giggle when he flips her over onto her back and pins her down with his body.

"I'd say that _you_ _did_, lass."


	3. A Plethora of Firsts

Killian tilts his head to the side, both examining and admiring his handiwork. Emma's breathing hitches under his intense scrutiny, even more flustered, aroused, and slightly embarrassed than the moment he issued his first command on her arrival at his new home…

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_Earlier that day…_

Although the Jolly Roger has been his home for centuries, he started looking for a place in Storybrooke to call his own almost immediately. He's no fool and knows that it will take time for stories of his deeds in Neverland to filter down to all of the townsfolk; hell, he may never be able to prove himself to any of these people. But their approval or hatred truly means nothing to him in the grand scheme of things, because this is where Emma lives… And after that first night together, he cannot fathom living out his days anywhere but where she is. Because he knows that just a taste of that passion isn't going to be enough to satisfy either of them. So, he suffers the stony glares in silence as he goes about his business in the town. Thankfully, the few merchants whose shops he actually enters are obliging as opposed to rude (his gold spending just as easily as the paper bills or plastic chips that everyone else uses), or downright chatty and helpful in the case of Esmeralda at her establishment, Fortune's Favors.

He still hasn't had a chance to learn how to operate a car, much less acquire one, so he walks back to his cabin with his purchases. The place is rustic, but still superior to many accommodations found back in the Enchanted Forest; he definitely plans to make changes and improvements, but for now, he simply enjoys the feeling of having a place of his own and the few comforts within his current reach. Granted, he had to deal with the Crocodile in order to find and rent the house, but compared to the bliss of setting up a place that is all for him and Emma, a space where there are no memories except for the ones he will be creating with her… Striking a bargain with Rumplestiltskin was an easy choice when it came right down to it.

He carefully lays out his purchases on the table in the kitchen, sorting them methodically and running through his plans for the evening one final time…

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Right before Emma and David could finish up their last reports before lunch, Moe French's spindly-thin assistant staggers into the station carrying a ridiculously elaborate arrangement of flowers. Both father and daughter stare at each other for a few seconds before shooting up off their feet to "help" the florist. Thankfully, David doesn't spot the card first, so she snatches it out of the little plastic holder. Only then does she actually help by clearing several stacks of files and papers off of her desk and laying them haphazardly on David's. To call this a bouquet would do it an injustice. First, she can't even see the vase that the flowers are in, but it's got to be more than just your standard cylinder or inverse pyramid. The Calla Lily flowers are massive and most prominent, their delicate white curves gently spilling out their soft fragrance; then, there are several sprays of pink and purple freesia, as well as pink apple blossoms; though it's not nighttime, a few jasmines are scattered in there as well, a scent Emma can fairly easily identify; but the last ones she spots are the most curious: three bright yellow tulips that stand out because of their color, but also somehow pull everything together harmoniously. A lot of thought and effort went into this particular choice and arrangement of the flowers.

She thanks and tips an exhausted looking Mr. Lightman before turning the card over in her hand. She recognizes the cursive instantly—a fluttering sensation starts in her chest while warmth begins to flare to life in a much more southerly location. He's gone through a lot of public trouble and effort for her in sending these flowers; they haven't talked about keeping their relationship a secret, nor have they been trying to hide exactly. They've simply been enjoying the quiet specialness of being the only people in the world who know about their connection. The display is clearly his less than subtle way of telling her how he wants things to be; sending them to the sheriff's station means that he wants her father in particular to know how he feels and his intentions. Again, Emma expects the familiar panic, the urge to run away from Killian and everything he wants, to spring up and grip her by the throat. It would be truly unnatural if she _didn't_ have any doubts or fears about making things work with him or about changing the way others see him. But if, even for one moment, she ever doubted _him_, his actions in Neverland and beyond have proved to her that he is a good man.

_My dearest Emma, did you know that every single flower and plant has a very specific meaning attached? It seems to me that for all the knowledge your world has accumulated, there is much that has been lost or forgotten with time. Suffice to say, I mean every word, every thought, every emotion. You needn't share our secret with your family if you aren't ready, love, but I hope that soon you will be. Meet me tonight at the address below; I believe the phrase is that I have a date planned for us. _

_Your servant always,_

_Killian Jones_

There are so many emotions rolling around inside her that Emma has no idea how she feels about any of it. Never has one man given her so many things before. Even before he truly _knew_ her, he was ready to swear his allegiance and would have allowed her to keep the compass. He gave her the last bean, and then offered his ship and expertise in order to help her rescue her son; he gave her a sword so she could fight; he offered her rum and companionship so she could stay sane; he put his life on the line far too many times to count… And now he's giving her space and time to decide whether or not their relationship is a dirty little secret or something she will share with everyone else in her world. While she and David are at lunch, she types "flower meanings" into her favorite search engine and goes hunting for answers.

_Apple blossoms signify a promise made and kept; freesia represent a spirited person or sense of free-spiritedness; jasmine stands for grace and elegance; calla lilies were once exclusively grown for royal celebrations and were a carefully guarded secret among the specially licensed gardeners who grew them; and yellow tulips denote that the sender is hopelessly in love…_

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"What do you mean, you have a date with him?" Snow leans against the door frame, watching her daughter get dressed for the evening. Because her mother won't leave until she gets an answer, Emma reluctantly takes a breath to explain.

"You've been on one before, you know? With a certain mad scientist? And with Dad; which, if you haven't yet since the curse was broken, you should really try sometime. With all of us living in this loft, you guys could use some alone…"

"We were cursed!"

"Mom! I'm not judging or anything. I'm just saying that I am going out on a date. With Killian Jones. What is so complicated about that?"

"Well… It's just that… As much as I've been expecting this, I suppose the fact that it's actually happening comes as a bit of a shock to me. You're trusting someone and letting them in. And really, I hope you don't get me wrong because that's fantastic. I just never imagined that my daughter would end up with someone who wasn't a noble or a royal of some kind. I mean, I know that we aren't in the Enchanted Forest and that the United States doesn't have any monarchies, not that they'd recognize us as such. But I also never imagined that Captain Hook would end up as my son-in-law either, so I suppose anything is possible."

"Mary Margaret! First, it's a date, not a wedding. Second, take a deep breath. Third, you really need to stop calling him Hook; that's not his name. And fourth, I know that you missed out on the whole parenting thing with me, but I'm a big girl now. I have a kid of my own; who I spend time with is really not your decision. Besides all this, I've never felt like a princess before—I was never adored and loved and treated as anything special in any of the homes I lived in, and frankly, Neal was no prince either. I'm not saying any of this to hurt you, Mom. What I'm trying to say is that the way Killian looks at me, the way he makes me feel—well, that's the closest I've ever come to any of that. He treats me like a woman deserves to be treated, makes me feel like a woman while giving me the respect of an equal. I don't know where things are headed with him, but I know that with him, I'll be a partner and not a pawn or an amusement. He's not playing me, or using me, and we have a lot in common… So, while I appreciate that this might be difficult for you, can you please trust _me_ to know what I'm doing?"

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As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew that they were true. Snow had started tearing up and rushed over to hug her, but Emma had felt completely blindsided. She's pretty certain she's never used the words "feel" or "feeling" quite so many times in her entire life, but there's no denying the effect that Killian Jones has on her—he makes her _feel_. And not just in the physical, mind-blowingly, amazing sex way; somewhere between here and Neverland and the Enchanted Forest, cracks in her walls started forming for the dashing yet damaged man. He's gotten so far past her defenses that he even has her thinking is clichés now!

But if she's being honest with herself—and really, since that night at the Rabbit Hole, letting Killian take control and dominate her, she's dropped a lot of her own lies and pretences—she knows that the deep emotional currents, the feelings and attachments are hardly one-sided. He's clearly desired her from the moment they met, but the connectedness, the yearning to be understood and accepted by her has been evident since that confession in Rumplestiltskin's jail cell. He _wouldn't_ have left her behind; he would have helped her steal the wardrobe ashes and escape to Storybrooke. It was _her_ fear and abandonment issues that kept them apart for far too long. The question remains: will she let her pride and fears continue to stand in the way?

She hasn't even fully had time to answer her own question when she's walking around the edge of a pond to a familiar looking cabin in the woods. Not too long ago, before the curse broke, she followed Gold here and arrested him for assaulting Belle's father. Only this time, she knows that Killian is waiting for her inside and that something entirely different will happen. She shakes her head, willingly the less than pleasant memories away so that they don't mar the present. Light spills out of the windows, reflecting in the lightly rippling surface of the water, but it's much warmer, more alive than anything electricity can provide. She stands there for several minutes, just staring, until she sorts through and recognizes the emotions coursing through her—anticipation, of both the nervous and excited variety. It's been so long since she's been on a real date, one that wasn't part of her job or involved skipping out on the check; plus, she has no idea what Killian's expectations are for all of this or how he even knew what a date was. But in the end, her desire to see him, to be near him wins out over any anxieties that linger in her mind. She did, after all, go through her own bit of trouble for tonight.

She makes her way toward the house, stepping carefully up onto the front porch and looking in at the window. Clearly, Killian has managed a few changes already or has no real concept of rooms and interior decorating. Theoretically, this room is supposed to be a living room of some sort, but he has other ideas in mind for it. She has no idea how he managed to move his bed here from the ship, but the familiar headboard, pillows, and bedding glow prominently in a pool of candlelight. The fireplace has a cheerful blaze going, adding to the warm lighting in the room, and Emma can even feel the heat through the pane of glass. Not entirely certain whether or not there's another entrance, she knocks on the door and waits. "I was worried there for a moment, lass. You looked ready to bolt; afraid I might've had to give chase. Would you have let me catch you, princess?"

Emma gasps, startled again by his ability to remain absolutely silent and still. It had been an unnerving skill to see in action in the jungles of Neverland; however, an erotic thrill slides through her body, knowing that he could have done any number of things to her before she would have had time to react. The possibilities are… endlessly enthralling to contemplate. A blush heats her cheekbones as one such scenario flits through her mind, the prospect far from frightening. She looks down demurely, but stalks toward him with an exaggerated sway to her hips. "If I really wanted to escape, I don't think my shoes are at all right for getting me away fast enough, not to mention needing to go through the woods. And when you finally caught me, who knows what sort of damage might have been done to my dress? You see, I'm supposed to meet this pirate for a date he asked me out on, and I bought a new outfit and everything. Do you know where I can find him?"

Killian doesn't move from his place in the shadows as she slips her hand onto his chest and molds her curves along the length of his body. From this angle, he can see the exposed tops of her breasts and a hint of delicate light blue lace under the black of her long coat. As she walked up to the cabin, he'd gotten more than an eye-full of her long, bare legs; he's never seen them exposed outside of his bedroom (and the deck of the Jolly Roger, but that doesn't really count), and he feels an unexpected wrench of jealousy in his gut and chest. The mere thought of another man seeing what belongs to him fires a primal need to mark and claim Emma—a far from gentlemanly urge and a side of him that only his Swan has ever managed to tap into. She challenges him in so many ways, the least of which is in maintaining his finely-honed, hard-won control. Hence the trappings of power-plays and games, the elaborate courting gestures, and the carefully planned scene; even his choice of clothing was deliberately selected to remind him that his darkest side needs to remain locked away, for now. She deserves far more than he believes he can ever give her—it is her desires, her needs that must be met first.

"There might be one lurking about somewhere. Surely his loss is my gain. He's a fool to ever let such a beautiful woman out of his sight, and his bed." Killian never breaks eye contact as he kisses her wrist and then the faint scar that's still visible on the palm of her hand. "Thank you for coming, sweet Emma."

"Were you afraid that I wouldn't?"

"Terrified, love. I fear very few things anymore, having seen more than my share of the horrific; but I am petrified every moment that I'm not with you. I spent far too many nights dreaming of you, lass… I'm never quite sure if you're real or still a part of my fantasies." He pulls her hand up to his cheek and holds it there, skimming his nose along the sensitive skin of her wrist again. Because his eyes are closed, he doesn't see the moment of heartbreak, the sympathy that brims in her eyes at his words. He's not hiding behind them this time, but he still has a way with them that she will never be able to match; and it saddens her to no end, not just that he seems to believe it, but that she despairs of ever finding the right phrases, the perfect words she longs to say.

"When I first got here, and I didn't believe that I was the savior, I told Henry that I wasn't a character in some book—that I was a real person. Now, show me your new place, and then I'll prove to you just how real I am." He smiles down at her, extending his left arm for her in perfect gentlemanly fashion. She accepts it with a smile of her own and a very shallow curtsy, then follows him into the cabin. The warm air inside wraps around her comfortingly, making it all the easier to want to remove her coat. Killian stands behind her, hand and hook lightly resting on her shoulders, ready to take it from her. She turns her head to catch his eye, winks, and then slowly unbuttons the jacket. The satin lining allows it to slip easily away from her skin and from the pale periwinkle dress. It's dainty and delicate, yet somehow it suits her; she'll never be able to sword fight in it or wear a gun with it, but it highlights the flare of her hips, the curve of her thighs, and the narrowing of her waist. The long lace sleeves cover her arms while also revealing tantalizing glimpses of creamy skin. He's never before loved and loathed a woman's garment in such equal measure, nor has he ever been so eager for its removal.

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The conversation on the porch was nearly two hours, a nice meal, and all of her clothes ago. Now, the only things she's wearing are the cerulean silk ropes Killian used to tie her wrists and elbows together and bound around her breasts and torso. Instead of commanding her to strip, he had asked her if he could pose and draw her. Having been a child used to hard decisions on the streets, she had traded on her looks and posed for a few semi-nude pictures for a photography class at a local community college in the various places she lived a time or two. She's never been ashamed of it, preferring survival over an exalted sense of pride, but she's also never seen herself as the kind of beauty that artists yearn to capture. It was that look in his eyes, hungry and compelling, that made her agree. Then with an aching, patient slowness, as if committing every second of it to memory, he striped her completely. When she was standing in nothing except her high heels, he had pulled the length of rope out and shown it to her. He let her feel the slide of the silken cord over her skin, describing in detail exactly how she would be posed. She was free to say no, but she could sense how much he really wanted this and agreed.

Now, she's on her knees on his bed, back bowed so that her hips and breasts are thrust out and upwards; her hair cascades down her arms, not quite concealing the bright blue bindings. Her head is tilted slightly to the right, lips parted just so; her eyes are half-closed, so she can watch him as his hand flies across the parchment. His gaze burns over every inch of her, never wavering, never leaving her exposed skin. She can almost feel it, brushing along her entire body. Her thigh muscles and back are feeling the strain, but she keeps still as she's been told to. Instead of embarrassed or ashamed, the only thing Emma feels is his worship, his devoted adoration of every curve and line of her body and every recess of her soul. Seemingly tied up and helpless, she has never felt more empowered and feminine than she does right now. The rope feels decadent against her skin, travelling as it does between and then under her breasts, forcing them up and restricting the blood-flow just enough that every heartbeat becomes a sensual experience.

But the strain must be showing a little bit because he puts his pencil and the portfolio down on a side table and walks over to her. He wraps his left arm around her back and pulls her straight into his chest. The midnight blue silk of his shirt brushes against her tightly bound breasts so sensuously that her nipples immediately harden at the whispered touch. She moans as his right hand cups the back of her head and then trails down her neck and shoulders, kneading away the spots of tension hidden there. "Thank you, Emma. You've done very well so far. I know that exhibitionism isn't your style, so it means all the more to mean that you consented to pose. However, there is still the little matter of your disobedience on my ship; so, as a reward for your good behavior now, you get to choose what I'll use after your spanking. You can sit a little more comfortably and stretch your legs."

He places a soft kiss on her lips and then again on the tip of her nose before walking over to a cabinet set in the wall. "The cane is light and flexible. It won't break the skin, but it should raise some bright red lines. The flogger has several strips of leather. We'll take it easy, but you might get a few welts. The crop might bring out a bruise or two, but nothing out of the ordinary. Or, there's a paddle or my hand."

They all have possibilities, but she already knows which one she wants him to try first. "The crop, please. Captain." She pauses only slightly and with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. She's seeking his limits again, wanting to see how far into the pain he can take her. It's the true test of a Dom, to know precisely how much their Sub can really take without willfully hurting themselves or going too far in an effort to please. Emma, on the other hand, is genuinely curious; no one had ever dared to question her dominance, her iron will, and self-control. She'd never met anyone for whom she wanted to bend, wanted to be supple and pliant for, until Killian. Much of the pain in her life has been dark and emotional; now, she wants to learn how it can dance on the knife's edge with pleasure.

"Very well. For your spanking, I'll have you over my knee. I do believe twenty was the number agreed upon, yes?"

"Yes, Captain." As they discussed the other day—in the midst and the aftermath of a night and a day worth of taunting, teasing, love making, and fucking—he issues a command and expects that it will be followed immediately. Walking toward where he's seated, she's entirely aware of her body and the power that it has over him. With her hands bound behind her back like this, she needs and accepts his help getting into the proper position. Her face is turned to the left, looking at him, cheek resting on his leather-clad thigh. His left arm is stretched across her bound wrists, and she is able to hold on to his hook. Her feet are planted on the ground, legs slightly apart. The second she's in position, his hand descends hard on her ass, forcing a gasp from her. "One."

He changes everything with each spank—placement, time between slaps, force—but after each one he runs his hand soothingly along her reddening skin. It's the contrast, the anticipation that have her panting and gasping in pleasure rather than discomfort. By seven, Emma can already feel her own moist heat begin trailing down her upper thighs. At the twentieth, her body is ready to topple over the edge into bliss, and she all but collapses on Killian. He can see hazy green through slitted eyelids as she leans in to rub her face along his stomach and waistband. He chuckles at her display of eagerness and affection. "Insatiable minx."

"Only for you, Captain. Only with you." His heart clenches because there's something about the way she says it that makes it sound like she's saying so much more.

"Back up on the bed, princess. Just as you were before." He helps her up and steadies her on her feet before rising and walking over to the cabinet to retrieve the crop. He flexes it a bit, then swings it to get the measure of the instrument. "Now, this will make a sound somewhere between a thud and a crack, depending on where it strikes you. We aren't going to go with a set number, so be very vocal. I want to know exactly where you are at every step of the way. Ocean still puts everything to a stop, so, what tells me that you are uncomfortable?"

"Sky."

He smiles at her smug grin, but then fists her hair in his hand. The glassy haze of pleasure reasserts itself in her eyes at his show of power. Gods! But she's so responsive for him! He kisses her bruisingly, matching the duel of tongues to the controlled violence of their desire for each other. Killian pulls away quickly, just as eager to play her as she is willing to be played. He starts with a swift, yet gentle strike to each of her breasts. Emma hisses, then moans. "It stings at first, but then I can feel heat come up to the surface of my skin. It's like, when I know you're watching me across a room, my whole body warms up, but it's just where you struck me."

He stalks back and forth, peppering her skin with cracks of the crop. Each strike of the leather against her flesh bringing more whimpers, more moans, but never a hint of anything but pleasure. Rosy blushes stain her porcelain skin, all along her thighs and stomach like white and red petals. His lashes are precise in their pressure, not once causing a welt or bruise to blossom. "Are you wet for me already, Emma?" He trails the crop down between her breasts, across her stomach, and slips it between her spread thighs. She starts panting as he touches the leather to her folds and clit. He knows the answer, but he loves hearing dirty, wicked thoughts fly out of that sinfully beautiful mouth of hers.

"Yes, Killian! Since you started my spanking. I almost came when you finished punishing me." Another moan breaks past her lips as he continues taunting her. He takes the crop away, examining it with a seemingly jaded eye; her juices cover a significant portion of the leather, revealing just how thoroughly, wantonly turned-on Emma is.

"But you didn't?" She shakes her head, pouting adorably. "Good. Then come for me now."

He carefully, delicately lashes her folds and clit. Like a sculptor using just the right amount of pressure to chisel away the last imperfection, Killian increases the swiftness of his gentle strikes until she's screaming his name and collapsing onto her side on the bed. He tosses the crop carelessly on the comforter, making quick work of the knots binding her. She is absolutely boneless as he frees her, gathers her in his arms, and places her gently under the covers. He strips quickly and joins her, his only intent to hold her as the power of her orgasm rides her. But he underestimates his Emma.

Far sooner than he imagined possible—in fact, no sooner than he had gotten her head settled on his chest—she straddles his waist. "Get back here, lass. What do you think you're-"

She places a finger on his lips, then leans in to kiss him. Compared with what just passed between them, it's a slow, languorously innocent meeting of lips and tongues; but there's something wildly unknown about it that sets him on edge. Emma pulls back, eyes glowing green, a wickedly sensual smile on her face. "Let me thank you properly, Killian love."

She gently guides his cock inside her, slowly inching her way down in a way that drives him frantic with need. When he's fully home, she grinds her hips against his. And then she's riding him with her body and with magic. He feels an answering spark of pleasure in his body wherever he touches her. He arcs his hips up to meet her every downward stroke. Their mating dance takes on a reckless pace, a desperate and needy race to neither knows just what. Emma looks like a goddess come to earth, green-fired eyes and golden hair rippling around her body in a magical wind. She's so beautiful she makes his heart ache, and all he ever wants to do is worship her.

He wraps his arms around her, rolling them over without ever skipping a beat. Her legs entwine with his before wrapping around his waist. He kisses her throat, her breasts, her lips while whispering prayers and odes and praise. She reaches for the hand that's buried in her hair and laces their fingers together. She contracts and flutters around him, clearly so close to orgasm again in the white-hot connection between them. His only thought in the instant before she pulls him under with her is that he is somehow home with this divine princess, with this woman-goddess the rest of the world knows as Emma Swan. And then bright blinding light followed by darkness followed by a warm golden glow descends.

Killian vaguely remembers rolling to the side and settling Emma next to him. They both simply bask in the sound of the other breathing, of the feel of cooling skin against skin for several long minutes. He notices all of a sudden that she's smiling up at him, the most dazzling and happiest glow on her face. "Gods, love! I swear to myself that you could never be more beautiful than in that moment, and then you prove me wrong!"

She snuggles her face into his chest, blush flaming down her face and neck. When he lifts her chin back up, she actually giggles. But then a seriousness slightly dims the joy shining out of her. "I told my parents about our date. And of course my Mom wanted to have "a talk" with me about it. Not my point. Anyway, I realized something, and you know I'm horrible with words. Actions are much more my thing…"

She looks embarrassed and trips over some of what she says, especially when confusion and uncertainty crosses his features. But then she pointedly looks at the hand that's cupping her cheek and playing with her tumbled locks. The left hand that hasn't stopped touching her from the moment her magic fully healed him. Killian stares first at it, then at her in speechless awe. "You make me feel like I belong; I was a part of something before, but I always felt like I stood on the outside. And with you, I know that's never going to happen. You make me feel adored and special and whole, Killian."

Emma hides her face against his chest again because the wonder and happiness and joy and love radiating off of him is just too much. But he's having none of that. He flips her off, eliciting a startled squeal from his earthy goddess. And then his body pins hers to the mattress, and he threads their fingers together for the first time. When she finally opens her eyes, she gasps because Killian's are now an electric silver-blue. Almost as if… He chuckles before placing gentle kisses along her neck and collarbone, punctuating each with a whispered "thank you."


	4. Courting and Corsets

Killian wakes with the dawn, as usual, but it's the cold that really breaks through the fog of sleep. He carefully slips out of the still warm bed, tucking the blankets around Emma to ward off the chill before going over to the fireplace and stirring the coals back to life. Putting on more wood and ensuring that the blaze returns quickly is a much easier task now that he has both hands. He shakes his head in wonder yet again; not that he's surprised that Emma's magic could heal him, but in awe at her ability to do so with willpower alone. Magics of this caliber, this intensity are rare in any realm, let alone one that doesn't naturally have any of its own. Which means that the only thing Emma could possibly have drawn on to fuel her spell was the depth and power of her love for him. Despite the chill in the air, that single thought warms him more than any fire ever could. It's also why he was entirely unsurprised when she all but passed out afterward and never stirred once last night. After adding a few more logs to make certain of a roaring fire to heat up the room, he quickly returns to their bed. She whimpers a bit when he pulls the covers away, but a contented purr comes out of her throat when his body slides in next to hers. He grins wickedly because the sound reminds him of something he's wanted since he first set eyes on his irresistible Swan.

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_Emma has never felt more relaxed and boneless than she does right now, lying on a tropical beach. She can hear the rush and hiss of the waves as they sneak in to caress the shore and her toes. The grainy sand is powder soft and warm beneath her fingers and the rest of her skin. The air smells of coconuts, rain, and some delicate exotic floral that she can't place, with and undertone of a dark, spicy rum. Shore birds chirp and chatter excitedly, while seagulls screech. And the sun is just the right side of hot, so that her skin feels flushed and is just beginning to sweat. Over all of this, she feels a blissful sense of rightness, safety, and peace; they are rare emotions for her, so she savors every second of it._

"_As well you should. You've spent far too much time caring for others, ensuring someone else's happiness… Let someone take care of you for a change; let __**me**__ take care of you, lass."_

_She smiles, unsurprised that Killian Jones has found her in her dreams; he's had a place in them for far longer than her waking mind would ever admit to, but his presence has always come hand-in-hand with that sense of comfort and security. Emma has never felt threatened by him here, which always complicated her emotions while dealing with him in everyday life. But it's just his voice she hears this time and is enjoying this sensation of floating so much that she can't find the energy to look for him. Instead, she whispers his name._

_The waves have continued to rise, lapping around her legs with a soothing warmth. The water slips higher, caressing her fingers, her arms; tendrils of it slide over the plane of her stomach. It swirls around her breast, moist heat massaging her skin and tugging on her flushed and sensitive flesh. Even in dreams, her body can't deny the elemental, visceral need she has for him; she moans, wishing he were the one doing these thing to her, the one touching her in all the right places._

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He's certain that if she were awake, Emma might laugh at what he assumes would be a fairly ridiculous sight—the blankets covering a fully grown man hiding somewhere near her feet. Part of him secretly hopes she wakes sooner rather than later because he loves it when she sounds like the young, carefree woman she has never been allowed to be. But having her still asleep has its advantages too—he can discover some of her more sensitive spots, her preferred erogenous zones without a conscious filter. And he plans a very thorough exploration. He begins with touch, lightly tracing patterns over her skin with his fingertips. Strange as it may sound, her feet don't seem to be all that sensitive. But a lick to her ankle produces a breathy sigh that sounds like his name. He grins at this first success, cataloguing it for later. A kiss place on her knee while lightly massaging her tensed thigh elicits a delightful whimper. By the time he's lavished attention to both, she's becoming a bit restless. Her fingertips to shoulders are next; Killian has never set out to literally worship every inch of a woman's body before, and though the process might seems painstaking, he's thoroughly enjoying every second.

At this point, he allows more of his weight to press against her body, so that her unconscious mind knows he's there. He kneads both of her breasts, catching the nipple of one in his mouth. Her hands slowly slide across his arms and shoulders, digging in to his hair and pressing his head closer. Emma's movements are still sluggish and weak, meaning she's probably right on the edge of dreaming and waking. "Emma lass, are you with me yet? Time to wake, love."

He nuzzles her breasts and belly, hoping for a ticklish spot but coming up empty handed. So to speak. He groans, desperate for her to be awake and aware so that he can finally taste her. He wants to see her face, her eyes as he does it. He firmly slips one of her legs over his shoulder and rubs his nose and stubble against the inside of her thigh. Finally, Emma can't contain her breathless laughter anymore. "Okay, okay! God, that tickles, Killian!"

Her eyes are soft and hazy when she finally opens them, but they quickly widen in shock. "Killian, your—oh, god!"

Whatever she had been planning to say turns into a strangled moan as he licks her and sucks her clit into his mouth. She fists her hands in the sheets, trying her best to hold on as his hot tongue sweeps inside. His right hand and arm are stretched across her stomach, pinning her to the bed while his left has a firm grip on her ass. But Emma can feel him everywhere! Rationally, she knows exactly where Killian Jones is, but her body is telling her that his fingers are tweaking her nipples, his lips are kissing her collarbone, and that it's not his tongue thrusting in and hitting that perfect spot. Pleasure bombards her from every angle and catapults her into orgasm. When she opens her eyes, he's leaning over her; he has one of her hands pressed to his face and is breathing in her scent at her wrist. "Well, that beats an alarm clock, I guess."

"You wound me, love. I thought you would think it far superior to that wretched noise I've heard from your communication device." She gasps when he finally looks at her because his eyes, so striking before, are now a vivid, electrified blue. But instead of worrying about what it all means, she pulls him down for a kiss. She flips him over with her legs and rubs her wet folds along him length, making him throw back his head and groan. "Gods, you'll be the death of me, I swear! Although to be fair, you were warned. I do believe I mentioned that I wanted to wake you exactly like this. To worship and pleasure the most beautiful woman in all the realms."

Emma scoffs and looks away from his too adoring gaze. "You don't have to keep saying things like that. I mean, I know that you believe all those pretty words, but we both know there's nothing really special about me. And besides, it's not like you need to keep giving me lines when I'm already sleeping with you."

There's a moment of profound silence before a growl rumbles deep in his chest and rips its way out of his throat. She looks back at him, shocked to see anger contorting his features and the magic rapidly dimming from his eyes. Killian pulls her roughly to his chest and rolls them over, knocking the wind out of her and trapping her down against the mattress. The weight of his body and of his emotions knocks the breath from her lungs.

"Nothing special? Pretty words? Did you really just fucking say that to _**me**_, Swan? You want to talk about special? Was there anyone else in this bloody town who could have made _Captain Hook_ want to come in like a sodding knight in shining fucking armor to save it? Could anyone else have asked him to go to Neverland, a place he bloody well swore he'd never return to, to search for one small boy who meant bugger all to him? A lad who is the Evil Queen's son and the Dark One's grandson no less? In all the long, miserable lifetimes of his existence, has there ever been any woman who makes him wish to go back and undo all the crimes, all the mistakes? Just so she can be his first everything, so he can be a better man—one who deserves the amazing, rare treasure that is her love. Could anyone else have so completely loved a man that by the power of that love and the strength of her stubborn will that it should be so, she healed every single part of him and re-made him into someone worthy? And beautiful?"

Killian pushes away from her harshly, rising up out of the tangled mess of their bed like some primal god of wrath. Though she's still processing his words and fury, the sight of his very naked body stalking away sends a thrill of pleasure across every inch of her skin. He grabs his portfolio and, after pulling most of the parchment out, strides back to her and flings the pages onto the blankets. He glares at her with arms crossed over his chest, daring her to pick the drawings up or to contradict him. Emma audibly gulps before reaching out to gather up the abused papers, because she's never seen or heard him this livid before. But if his palpable anger is unexpected, what she sees on the parchment positively shocks her. The first one is clearly from last night when he had her posed. Even though it's not in color, her body is recognizably her own and very life like. Her face looks radiant, as if lit from the inside and burning with ecstasy; the way he captured her hair reminds her of Renaissance paintings of Venus, cascading waves of freshly tumbled curls, as if lover has just tousled them and left the frame; she looks strong, lean muscles clearly defined in her arms and thighs, yet intensely and definitively feminine in her strength. A powerful, sensual, exotic creature.

But this is not the only one; there are many, just as painstakingly drawn and meticulous, especially in their rendering of her face. One is a study of her and Henry walking down Main Street; one where she's sitting at her desk, nibbling on her lower lip while writing up a report; one where she's kneeling down and hugging her son, face suffused with a peaceful, joyous look of contentment. And then there are several of her asleep, clearly in her own room at the loft. Like the drawings from last night, she's nude, but everything is covered, merely hinted at by the drape of the sheet over her body. Each one shows her in a different position and with a different expression, as if he caught her while dreaming. And yes, the details of her breasts and lower stomach are noticeably present, but his pencil also managed to convey a sense of something imperfectly seen, something unknowable and mysteriously sensual. And, undeniably beautiful. "Oh, my god, Killian! These are—Do I really—When did you—How?"

He takes the sketches from her, placing them thoughtlessly on the bed. He cradles her face in his hands and begins kissing along her jaw. "Yes, they are exquisitely, erotically, innocently, naively, gorgeous because they are of you, lass. Yes, you are heart-shatteringly beautiful—all the more so because you do not see yourself properly. As to the when… well, I ask your forgiveness for spying on you, but those were done before you knew I had arrived from the Enchanted Forest. You bested me thrice, Emma, and I bloody well couldn't get you out of my head! So, those first few days, before Cora kidnapped the Cricket, I spent my days and nights watching you. I wanted to know more about you, everything there was to know; and also, to ensure that she wouldn't retaliate against you in any way." All this was said as he continued setting fire to her body, brushing lips along her face, neck, and shoulders. His hands held her in place while tracing along her arms, back, and breasts gently. And slowly, he moved to curl around her, pressing her back to his chest and letting her feel the hard, growing length of his erection.

"Here I was, finally close to getting my revenge, and all I could think about was you, you saucy wench. It's not just this—your delicious, creamy skin or your captivating eyes or any other enthralling part that belongs to you—your beauty is far more than such external and shallow shows, lass. Your soul, darling, is the most ensnaring, enchanting, beautiful thing about you because you love so passionately and deeply. I'm proof of that. So, the next time you doubt any of my compliments' sincerity, whenever you dismiss my words as mere empty flattery, remember this moment; because if I ever hear you say anything like that again, no matter where we find ourselves in that instant I _**will**_ take you across my knee and deliver a spanking you won't soon forget!" He bites her shoulder and then swipes his tongue along her reddened skin, causing her to moan and throw her head back against his chest. He cups one of her breasts, fingers caressing the sensitive areola while his thumb teases her hardening nipple. His other hand smoothes down her stomach massaging lightly and ever lower. Emma tilts her head to the side, catching his still-burning gaze.

She reaches her hand around his neck, pulling his face down to hers to capture him with a searing kiss. She consumes him as if starved, whimpering low in her throat when he responds with equal passion. He groans when she bites down hard on his low lip, drawing blood in her fierce hunger for him. But before he can retaliate, she yanks on the hair that's now trapped in her grip. "I need you inside me, Jones! Take me just like this—Now!"

He complies in an instant, lifting her up with both hands on her hips; he moans when her hand wraps around his cock, and she teases her folds with it. A thrust of his hips distracts her momentarily, but it reminds her of what she begged him for only seconds ago. And then his thoughts scatter to the four winds as she surrounds him in tight, wet heat, her sheath clamping around him. That first moment of being inside her, the very beginning of their dance toward the stars, leaves him absolutely stunned. No words could ever describe the physical sensation, let alone the internal feeling of wonder—that the universe itself smiles on them and blesses the utter perfection it has achieved in bringing these two bodies and souls together. Every thrust of his cock, every panting mewl that spills from her lips, every pump of their hips that crashes them harmoniously together expands far beyond the permeable confines of flesh, blood , and soul. Like land and sea colliding, she takes him in and holds him close, releasing him only to embrace him again.

He grips her breasts tight, covering them both with the palms of his hands while pressing her further against him. He licks and nips at the shell of her ear and earlobe before sucking on the soft skin right behind it. "Touch yourself, lass. I want to see you tease your clit—I know you're aching to. I've got you; I won't let you go." Her one hand is still fisted in his hair, but the other had wrapped around him and is gripping his ass. She slowly lets go of his abused mane, sliding her fingers along the stubble of his jaw. The continue an agonizing trail down her body before reaching that small bundle of nerves. But she surprises him yet again, besting him as only his Emma can do. She slips a finger on either side of her folds, so that they brush his cock every time he thrusts up into her. They are coated with her arousal in an instant, while she uses to moisten her thumb which she uses to stimulate her clit. The extra friction and extra pressure she exerts with this has him throwing his own head back and panting, hitching every so often as he feels the different types and intensities of muscles contracting around him. Leaning forward and resting his head in the crook of her neck, he takes a deep cleansing breath and then increases his speed, pumping hard and fast.

"Yes! Fuck, yes! Just… mmmm! Killian, yes!" He can tell that she's close, not only because of what her body is doing, squeezing his cock in a tightening iron grip, but because she's becoming vocal. She makes him work for every sound, but dragging words out of her takes a command or true focus of his every skill. And then neither of them can take the build of pressure any longer; she explodes and sucks him down the whirlpool with her. Light bursts out from under their skins, bathing them in a truly divine afterglow. Sharing the same heartbeat, the same body, the same breath, the same skin, they slowly come down from the high still touching everywhere that they can reach.

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After finally getting out of bed and taking a thorough shower, which wouldn't have taken so long if Killian hadn't innocently pointed out that they could share without ravishing each other again (which ended up not being true), they walked over to the apartment so Emma could change. They are now heading over to Fortune's Favors, where he claims that he has a surprise for her. Before they left his cabin, she had offered to go clothes shopping with him, but a quick check to his wardrobe revealed that either much of what he used to wear still sort of works in this town or that he's found places to get what he needs already. Today, instead of leather, he's wearing a pair of dark blue jeans—less comfortable than leather, but better equipped to conceal his automatic reaction to her presence at his side, according to him. And now that he doesn't have to worry about sailing through sudden storms, sweaters and jackets have become options for everyday wear.

The chimes near the door stir in the wind when they enter the shop. "Make yourself at home, Killian. Be with you in a minute." Emma looks over at him, and he shrugs, an incredulous smile on his face.

"She's a bit…different, Esmeralda. Might be a bit off her rocker, but good at what she does."

A black-haired beauty sweeps out from the back room, colorful skirt swirling around her obviously long legs. She glides up to them both, wags a finger at Killian, and grips one of Emma's palms in her hands. "You better not be taking my name in vain now, my dear! I did, after all, predict that you would find and bind your true love with that blue silk chord, and here she is! Why, Sheriff Swan! Isn't that just too perfect! Oh, and don't worry—your father will be all bark and no bite, where this scalawag is concerned; saved the Prince's life a time or two too many for him to do otherwise. Just… you might want to avoid the spring—far too chilly a time of year for a wedding at sea. But where was I? Oh, yes! I got the bolts from the hold, Captain, and I have just the fabrics for her from both your selections and mine. Just get me her measurements and I'll have one picked out in a trice! And then I'll get started on all the others. So much work to be done…"

Her voice fades as she heads to a different room, this time off to the side and behind a bead curtain. Killian can't help but laugh at the expression on Emma's face. "She's a gypsy, lass. Sees the future and all? Why else name her shop Fortune's Favors?"

"This is a sex shop—lots of favors being handed out."

"True, but it's also because she can tell people's cards, let them know if fortune will favor them or not. But, the reason _we_ are here is because we have thus far neglected a very important part of your training, my lady."

"And that would be?"

"Corsets." His grin widens when she groans at the word. "Now, based on your reaction, I take it you've worn one. However, I do not believe the benefits of wearing them have ever been fully and properly explained to you."

He takes both of her hands in his and leads her back to the dressing room. There is a small raised platform in front of three mirrors, basket of sewing supplies on the ground next to it. On a clothes hook next to one of the mirrors is a tape measure. Smile still on his face, he kisses the tip of her nose and starts helping her unbutton her blouse. "A corset, when properly fitted and worn correctly is a tool of seduction, for both the wearer and the remover. Imagine, if you will, that every single morning, I had to watch you cover up all of that luscious, delectable skin and then help you to lace it up. My fingers constantly brushing along your back, your shoulders, your ass… Knowing all day precisely what you're wearing under your clothes."

He slips the shirt from her shoulders, placing it on a peg without looking and reaching for the tape measure. He wraps it around her breasts, right at the point where her nipples are peeking through the lace of her bra, and then under her breasts as well. "If you wear corsets often enough, you'll have perfect posture, which means your back is stretched and limber at a moment's notice. Now, some foolish, vain women have the idea of cheating nature, forcing their bodies into a smaller shape with corsets. But one perfectly fitted just for you should be barely noticeable at all. It also trains your lungs how take deep, cleansing breaths quickly."

He slides the tape measure across her ribs and stomach, stopping just above the waist of her jeans. He clicks his tongue in disapproval, then hooks a finger into the belt loops of her jeans and pulls her flush against him. His lips brush across her forehead while his nimble hands make quick work of her button and zipper. Then he's pulling them off her legs, kneeling in front of her as he does. She went with simple flats instead of boots, so in seconds, she is down to just her bra and panties. "And then, of course, unwrapping you from it at the end of the night, massaging your skin to make sure that it remains supple and pliant."

He drags hot, open-mouthed kisses along the skin of her stomach, teasing her navel with his tongue as he takes the final measurements around her waist and hips. "Killian, we can't. We're in public."

He chuckles darkly. "I may be a novice in your world, love, but even I recognize what Esmeralda left for us. Might have foreseen what would happen if she left us alone in a room together for any length of time." He nods to the platform and, sure enough, there's a bright foil condom wrapper next to the sewing basket. Emma blushes, hiding her face against his chest, but not quite managing to stifle a giggle.


	5. With His Hands

In the old garden shed that he has now converted into his own workshop, Killian sands down a cross-piece of wood for his latest project. One of the many nice things about having two hands once more is that fixing and building has become a possibility again. He'd never openly complained about it to anyone, but every time the crew was obliged to make repairs to any part of the Jolly Roger, it had gutted him. She was his vessel, damn it! He'd poured more money, sweat, tears, and blood into her than any other man on board, and yet, he could no longer tend to her wounds when she needed him. But then, along came Emma. And now that he _does_ have his hand again and his life has truly begun, he's rediscovered that love of putting things to rights. His work on his own home had attracted the interest of the Prince and Snow White, who both expressed admiration for the detailed work and craftsmanship he was able to achieve when they stopped by for a "chat". Strangely, this had been his entre, his ticket into the good graces of the citizens of Storybrooke. Perhaps because the Curse had frozen everything, leaving no room for real improvement and change, there hadn't been a real call for the more specialized skills associated with construction work.

Thankfully over the years, his thirst for knowledge and information had led him to learn how to manipulate more than just wood. He hadn't completely lied to Emma and the others when he had claimed to be a blacksmith; indeed, he'd worked a forge before, making nails and other tools and metal bits necessary to repairs on a ship. Thus, he could in fact make intricate knobs, fire screens, wrought iron, and other metalwork flourishes. He's also picked up stonework and rock polishing at some point along the way, enabling him to make decorative odds and ends from the various lands and realms he'd visited. Individually, these skills would probably have been completely useless to him, except as the hobby he's always considered them. But one day, about two weeks after he began officially courting Emma and a day after their Majesties had dropped by to see his place, he'd gotten a visit from Kurt Bacon, one of three brothers who owned the only construction company in Storybrooke. He and his brothers, Kyle and Kenny, offered him a job as their master craftsman, carpenter, and mason. Obviously, they would pay him, but they'd also teach him the other aspects of the business that he didn't already know—like how to install plumbing and electrical.

Thus, within six weeks of their escape from Neverland and one month of being with his Swan, Killian Jones finds himself in this thoroughly enviable position in his life. He has his ship and the sea whenever he misses the endless blue horizon, but he's also tethered here on land now, not trapped, but connected. He belongs here and for the first time in many, many long years, he is a part of something entirely good, pure, and true. As he smoothes the wooden surface, making it like satin or glass to the touch, he is able to think about all of the many ways that Emma has helped to ground him, to bring him home safely through the dark, terrible storm that was his life before her.

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_Three and a half Weeks Ago_

"_Are you sure you want to do this, Killian?" They stood in the kitchen talking, him with his back to the island while Emma actually fluttered around nervously getting snicker doodle cookies and hot cocoa ready for Henry. It was his favorite after-school snack anyway, so it wasn't like she was bribing him, but she did want him to be in a good mood. The can of whipped cream, cinnamon stick, and ground cinnamon all stood by ready to be added once the chocolate drink was set for the finishing touches. _

"_Lass, I have never been more certain of anything in my life. He's the single most important man in your world, and I need his respect and his acceptance, almost as much as I needed yours. He's your family, and you really just found them all; I won't get in the way of that, love. He's quite intelligent, you know, and if he doesn't figure it out on his own then someone will end up informing him. This is a small town, Emma love; secrets will out, and remember what we decided about keeping things from each other."_

"_But what if he says "no" or he has to think about it? He can be pretty persuasive and intimidating when he wants to be."_

_He smiles at her because it's really adorable how flustered she is by their plan. Clearly, she wants their relationship to have the Charming family stamp of approval just as badly as Killian does. He places his hands to her cheeks, still not sure that he'll ever get used to being able to fully touch her, but damn certain that he'll never take it for granted. "Emma, you healed me, gave me my bloody hand back because you love me so much. That's a powerful statement to the way we feel about each other. If he can't see that, then I will just have to prove to him that I'm very, truly, seriously, earnestly in love with you."_

_He didn't kiss her, even though he desperately wanted to, because they hear a key turn in the lock at that precise moment. Emma moves toward the stove to pour the hot water, and Henry walks through the green door. "Hey, Mom! Grams said she had some workbooks to grade, so she said I could walk home by myself. I hope that okay. Hey Captain! What are you doing here?"_

"_Well, I stopped by to see your Mum and you, actually. How did your lessons go today?" They had already talked about their approach to this discussion and honesty had always been top priority on their list. Aside from not having a chance to get to know him well personally, Killian had learned much about Henry from his mothers and grandparents while they searched for him in Neverland, and he had a little firsthand experience with how bright and quick the lad was._

"_They were fine, I guess. What do you mean to see us?"_

"_What I mean, Henry, is that I would like to talk to you about something. You're a smart young man—your Mum told me so when we were looking for you, but I've seen it more than once with my own eyes. I also know how much you value honesty, so here goes. I would like your permission to pay court to your mother. Now, I know that things work a bit differently in this land, but no matter where we are, family is incredibly important. And as you are the man of this family, I thought it best to speak with you about it."_

_Henry takes a sip of his cocoa, the tiniest bit of whipped cream and cinnamon clinging to the top left corner of his lip. If this conversation and the look in the boy's eye weren't so serious, Killian might have been tempted to laugh. "What about Gramps? Why haven't you asked him? Or have you already?"_

_After a quick nod from Emma, he continues. "Your mother and I discussed just that. David does know how I feel about your Mum, but as much as she is his child, she is also an adult; she has a son of her own and supports herself, which in our world's terms means she's independent of her parents' rule. However, your mother's life revolves, quite naturally so, around you; so, you are the person most effected by my courtship of her. Now I-"_

_He pauses, choking up a bit on the next words because he doesn't quite know how to say things. He motions Emma over, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek and squeezing her hand with his. "Could you give us a moment alone, lass?"_

_She nods, understanding that talking about Neal will be difficult for him despite having already told her the story. After dropping a kiss on Henry's head, she goes upstairs to her room. He watches her leave, adoring the way she moves, much more gracefully than she would ever give herself credit for. "Lad, I know that the past two months and more have been quite chaotic and very difficult for you. I only knew your father for a short time, when he was a boy. I regret the way we parted, and I am very sorry that he is gone. Losing him like that, after you had just found him—I truly wish that you had been able to get to know him better. But one thing he did teach me was how important family is, how loyal. I love Emma, Henry, more than anyone else I have ever loved, and when the time is right, and I believe it won't scare her to death, I want to ask her to marry me. I want us—you, me, and her—to be a family. Life hasn't exactly always been kind to the three of us, and I think that together, we can make each other stronger than we are separately."_

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Killian smiles to himself when he remembers that moment of truth, when Henry really spoke to him man to man. The lad had looked at a nearby photograph of his mother and grandmother. "I've seen the way my grandparents are. You know, the way they watch each other when the other isn't looking. You do that with my mom all the time, and she does it with you. She deserves that—more than anyone, my mom deserves a happy ending. Can you promise me that you'll give her that?"

"In all honesty lad, I can't. But if you've noticed how the Prince and Snow White act around each other, then you should have caught on to the real secret by now. True Love doesn't get a happy ending because it lasts forever, beyond time and death." Henry had looked at him very seriously for a long, pregnant moment, before declaring that he was hired, so long as he was "cool" with his expectations for siblings. He now lists it among the highlights of his life—finding understanding, compassion, and acceptance being offered to him by a young boy. He and the lad have a long road ahead of them before they truly can become family, but he can practically see those bonds of love between them beginning to grow, link by link. Killian remembers another child, one who he only saw as a link to the past and a way to resurrect and live out some fanciful dream. In time, he would have accepted the reality and responsibility of being a parent if he had been given the opportunity. But with Henry, all his thoughts are focused on the future and on building something new.

Much like the cabin he is currently improving and the skills he is acquiring that will help him with his long term plans. And also like the new piece he's working on today; constructing something to be used exclusively for his and Emma's personal enjoyment naturally brings with it a sensual anticipation, but also a quieter emotion—a contented peace that he's never known with anyone else. Granted, his Swan has also driven him mad with lust and to distraction finding ways to prove to he just how much he adores her. Like asking her to teach him how to use a camera—he still loves drawing her, glorious expanses of naked creamy skin captured with charcoal and ink, but the photographs require their own set of skills that heighten the erotic experience for the both of them. Killian grins, still looking at the wood grains before his eyes, but remembering her attempt to teach him how to use another unfamiliar bit of technology.

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_Two Weeks Ago_

"_Okay, Killian now. This is the shifter: R is reverse, for when you need to back up; then you have gears 1 through 5, those are the different speeds. This here is the parking brake, which keeps the car from rolling away. Down at my feet are the three pedals, and the best way to remember them is A, B, C—accelerator, brake, and clutch. Now, I'm going to start the car, making sure that my right foot is on the brake and my left is on the clutch. Now, when I want to change gears is when I press down on the clutch; so, we can shift it into first. I'm going to release the parking brake and slowly press down on the accelerator while I slowly release the clutch. Got it."_

"_I think so, lass, but I can't quite see." He unbuckled his seatbelt, scooting closer to Emma and placing his chin lightly on her shoulder. When she looked over out of the corner of her eye, his gaze was dutifully locked on the pedals. "Ah, yes that's better."_

"_Okay, when you need to stop, like at the light or a stop sign, you have to press down on the clutch first and then on the brake pedal as well. If you forget, you can stall out the engine, which __**will**__ make you stop, but it damages the gears and everything over time. Now when you're wanting to go faster, some people will say different things—you have to shift gears based on the number of rpm's or every 10 miles per hour—but each car is slightly different. You'll sort of feel it when the engine is ready for you to shift, through your hands and feet." Killian hasn't twitched a muscle, but he is giving her plenty of room to move and operate the car, so she does her best to ignore him and starts driving. She had insisted on going out into the now abandoned bean field, since it was relatively flat now and there was no chance of him running into anyone else. Running into trees might be another matter, but she's pretty confident that when she lets him behind the wheel, she'll be able to stop them with the parking brake should anything go wrong._

"_You never cease to amaze me with your knowledge, lass. I mean, I know that these "cars" are quite common in your world and that many people know how to use one. But it's truly astounding how easy you make it look. It's quite…enthralling." His intensely focused, burning attention is most definitely __**NOT**__ on the pedals or shifters right now. Emma swallows harshly, desperately trying to be a good teacher._

"_Okay, did you feel that? That sort of whine? It means that the engine is ready to shift gears, so you press on the clutch, shift into 2__nd__ gear, and accelerate while gently letting up on the clutch." She feels a couple of questing fingers brush against her right knee, causing her whole leg to jerk up and let off of the accelerator._

"_I'm not entirely certain that I did, Emma love. Should we try it again? Maybe next time I'll feel it." His right hand slides up her thigh, fingers and pinkie massaging in circles along the inside. With just his thumb, he manages to flick open the button on her jeans and rubs the pad along the waistband of her panties. She sucks in a tight, strangled breath when he rubs his nose, catlike, along her jaw and ear; his warm breaths caress their way along her throat and down to her chest. He's barely touching her and has gotten her as hot as a cheerleader on prom night! _What the fuck, Swan?! Head in the game!

"_Number one, you need to not distract the driver; I really don't want to have to explain to my Dad how we landed his truck in a ditch. Number two, emphasis on My Dad's Truck. Now, focus Jones."_

_She hears the sound of her zipper being undone, then feels his warm, calloused fingers dip below her panty line and start seeking out her—dear God! "Oh, I am positively riveted, darling. In fact, I was so attentive and focused on our lesson that I specifically requested the loan of this vehicle on account of certain fortuitous features. If you had bothered to note my sincere consideration of details, you would have seen that there are a few items of creature comfort ready and waiting in the…bed of this very truck."_

_He grins at her ingenuity because she manages to put the car in park, turn of the engine, and start ravenously kissing him in a matter of seconds. Contrary to her assertion only moments ago, she unbuckles her seatbelt and straddles his lap, deepening the duel between their tongues. Killian grips her waist in his hands, loving the way her curves feel against his palms, womanly and sensual. A whimper is startled from his throat when she grinds down on him, making him strain even harder against his jeans. "I thought you didn't enjoy the idea of me fucking you in your father's truck, lass."_

"_I was just pointing out that we shouldn't, not that I hadn't been fantasizing about it." She opens the door and quickly exits the cab, dragging Killian along with her. When she pulls down the tailgate, she finds a couple of folded up blankets, some pillows, and a picnic basket. But before she can scramble up, he pulls her back against him, digging his fingers into her curls and bringing her lips back to his. He sweeps his hot tongue inside her mouth, then sucks on her lower lip. He repeats this move several times, keeping her on her toes with the length of time he savors her mouth or how hard he bites down and sucks. He wraps her legs around his waist, pressing her back up against the truck and removing her boots and socks with a practiced ease. She leans back, lifting her hips so he can rip away her jeans and panties. It only takes him moments to undo his own pants and slip them down his hips enough to release his cock._

_The metal of the truck is cold against her bare ass, but Killian is all heat, especially once he thrusts up inside her with a strangled gasp. "Fuck, Emma! Always so wet and ready for me. Do you have any idea what this does to me, lass? Knowing that any time I want to just bury myself inside your tight quim, I can? Do you know what that does to a man, never needing to doubt just how much his lover wants him?__** I **__do this to you, Emma! I make you feel wanton and wickedly sensual. Do you know what kind of fucking amazing high that is?"_

_She smiles up at him, clenching her muscles tighter around him, clamping her pussy around his cock like a vice and making him moan. She grips her legs around his waist and digs her heels into his firm ass, using her own strength and the power of his thrust to practically impale herself on him. It's a glorious blending of pleasure and pain when he hits the very end of her, the deepest spot in her body for him. If she hadn't planned it, hadn't purposely bit down on her lip, it's the type of pleasure that would have had her screaming and writhing helplessly. She pushes herself up onto her arms, bringing their faces closer together. "Almost as good as knowing that I drive you crazy, that with one look or touch or the right word, I can make you so hard that you can't see straight."_

_The change in angle of penetration and the fact that she hasn't stopped clenching her walls around him almost has him coming, makes his vision begin to tunnel and blur around the edges. He continues to pump into her ruthlessly though, chasing his own orgasm as if his life depended on it. "I know what you're doing, lass. You're trying to bring me to my knees and make me beg you to come with me. But you're forgetting one thing."_

"_Oh yeah? And what's that, Jones?"_

_Killian fists her ponytail in his left hand, keeping his bruising grip on her hip with his right. He leans down, letting the friction of his body and the fabric of his jeans roughly stimulate her clit. "I'm the Captain, love, and I give the orders. Now be a good girl and fall apart for me." He latches onto one of her hardened nipples through the fabric of her t-shirt and bra. And then with three perfectly timed thrusts right across her g-spot, he sends her flying and quickly joins her. She screams his name, not caring who might be out in the woods, who might be around to accidentally see or hear them. He comes hard, pulsing several times as her pussy keeps clamping down on his cock with her aftershocks. He buries his head in her chest, chanting her name over and over like a benediction. Emma is still floating, arms and legs weakly clinging to him, when he recovers. Wrapping one arm around her tightly, he levers himself up into the bed of the truck, rolling so that she rests on top of him. He reaches over his head for one of the blankets and drapes it over the both of them. _

_A little more one-armed finessing gets a pillow in place and the second blanket ready, so that when he rolls her to the side, she's both cushioned and covered. He quickly does up his jeans before going searching for their scattered clothes._

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He still hasn't figured out how to drive yet, mostly because he can walk most places he needs to get to, or there are plenty of others willing to give him a ride if he needs one. He jokingly told the Prince that his instructor was far too distracted and distracting when he had asked how the lessons had gone. It had earned him a punch in the arm from Emma and a reluctantly amused glare from David, but the other man was too clearly exultant about the glow of happiness in his daughter's face, the joy that radiated out shamelessly from under her skin. Killian knows that so long as he makes her happy, Charming won't say one word against his relationship with his daughter; which works out well for him, since, as he told the other man, he plans on making Emma happy for the rest of her life.

He finally sets the brush down on the lid from the varnish can, casting a critical eye on the piece. He wipes his hands off on an old rag and starts putting everything away when a familiar pair of arms wraps around his waist. "How long have you been standing there watching me, lass?"

She rubs her face along his back, nose slightly tickling him; not that he'd ever admit it and give her any extra ammunition against him! She already owns him body and soul, so gods only know what she'd make him agree to if she discovers that he's ticklish. "Mmmm… Long enough. I like watching you work with your amazing, skilled, talented, beautiful hands."

He halts the progress of hers, which have been attempting to untuck his shirt from his pants. "Oh really? And is there something in particular you were wanting the aforementioned capable, gifted, and _well-endowed_ hands to be working on?"

Emma sucks her lower lip into her mouth before grinning wickedly and softly whispering. "So many things, baby. So many, many, naughty things."


	6. Look at Me

"Look at me, love." She shakes her head while still hiding her face against his chest. He brushes her hair back behind her ears and notices that they are flushed and red to the very tips. "Are you embarrassed that Esmeralda guessed where our minds would inevitably end up whilst in her shop? That she clearly knows just how much I would be tempted to take more than just your measurements? Are you—are you embarrassed that she knows about us? That she knows about me?"

Emma peeks up at him and is concerned when she sees genuine fear and hurt in his eyes. She slips her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. "God, no! Killian this is just… I don't know how to do the whole relationship thing, and so everything is a little overwhelming! My past, it was all just one time deals, meaningless; the guys never meant anything, and it was all just physical. I'm probably over-sharing right now. Ugh! Why do you have to be the one who's good with words?"

Killian's smile brightens just that little bit that takes him from attractive to gorgeous. "What I'm saying is that I'm not used to having it all. So, yeah, I might get flustered by the attention or act embarrassed because I'm not used to it. But never, for one second think that I ashamed of you or of how I feel about you! I just need to get comfortable with it, I guess."

"You guess? Darling, now that we're back to stay, people are going to start remembering that you're their princess. Being in the spotlight comes with the job. You need to become accustomed to having others always having their eyes on you." The hands that had been resting at her waist and lower back now press tighter as he spins her to face the mirror. In just her bra and panties, she feels self-conscious and immediately tries to cross her arms over her stomach and look away from her reflection. "Stop. This is important, Emma. I'm just as serious as I was this morning; don't try to cover yourself. Look at me, lass."

His chin rests on her shoulder, staring straight at the reflected image of them together. She meets his penetrating, serious gaze in the mirror—somehow, it seems more focused and more intense than normal, as if he's not only seeing what he sees but also what she does. "Use our words if you are uncomfortable, but I want to show you. I don't know what idiot ever put it into your mind that you aren't to be treasured and worshiped, but I will gut him if I ever get the chance. From the crown of your head to your tiniest toe, you are beautiful."

Killian gently sweeps her hair so that it falls down her back, gliding his fingers along her skin seemingly at random while he speaks. "I want you to watch yourself; never take your eyes off of your body if you can help it. Feel everything that I'm doing to you, but see how you look when the sensations start to take over."

He presses gentle kisses to her shoulder, tracing his way up her neck with feather-light brushes of his lips. His hands both cup around her shoulders before caressing down her arms; the touch raises goose bumps along her skin and her nipples immediately pucker, as if begging for his attention. Her mouth opens just a bit, her breath catching in her throat. He laces their fingers together, silently commanding her hands to follow his lead. Their right hands reach up to her left collarbone, lightly skimming along the delicate flesh there. Their lefts cross down along her stomach and to her hipbone. Emma feels lightheaded and pants softly. "Do you see it yet, love? Keep watching yourself."

She barely shakes her head, eliciting a sigh from him. He gathers her hair and places it over her shoulder so that it curls delicately to cover her left breast. Pressing kisses to the back of her neck, he unclasps her bra and slides it off, carelessly tossing it on top of the rest of her clothes. He runs the backs of his fingers slowly up and down her spine, causing her to shiver delicately and to breathe deeper. Emma tries to lean back into his touch, but a deliberate, careful bite to her shoulder warns her to stay put. Her whole body is trembling with need, and yet Killian has barely touched her. "You think that when people look at you, they see what you see—the darkest secrets, your greatest crimes. You are your own worst critic, Emma love. Others see a capable, strong woman; a warrior, their fierce protector; they see a mother willing to go to hell and back to save her son, but who would do the same for any of them. And a lucky few see your passion, your deep capacity to care and love and nurture. You deserve to have it all, lass; you are more than worthy of being the center of every man's attention. But I'm the lucky bastard who gets to build my world around you."

He tilts her head back, pressing soft lips to hers. The kiss is slow, gentle, and reverent. He moves as if they have all the time they need, as if everything and everyone else has melted away, and only the two of them exist in this moment. Emma knows that he's right, that she's letting her issues cloud an otherwise perfect day and amazing moment with him. So, almost like she does when he dominates her, she just lets go; she gives herself over to being with him, to kissing and the leisurely pace he's setting. She allows herself to simply enjoy their desire for each other, not analyze it to death. She pulls back and rests her forehead against his chin. "You know, half of me is worried that you won't want me like this for very long, and the other half is worried that you'll think I'm only using you for your cock."

Before he can say another word, she's kissing him again, walking backwards, and pulling him along by his belt loops. He plants his hands to either side of her head once she is backed against the wall, still stroking her tongue with his while she unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans. He's fully content to let her lead, to go at her own pace; he wants her to know that whatever she desires really _will_ be hers, if she commands it of him. When she starts tugging up on his sweater, he reluctantly pulls away from her lips. "Tell me what you want, sweet Emma. Tell me how you want me."

She bites her lip, squirming when he dips one finger under her panties. "I want—I—god, I want everything right now! Soft and tender, wild and passionate… The way you woke me up was amazing…"

His focus on her becomes at once more intense and more playful. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were embarrassed, lass. There's no shame in telling me that you enjoyed my rather wicked tongue. Was it wanton, decadent, and delightful for you?"

Her whole body shivers, trembling delicately. "Yes."

Killian kneels in front of her, placing a hot open-mouthed kiss to her belly before gazing up at her. "Was it the best? Would you like me to lick and suck, as if you're my very own bowl of Emma-flavored ice cream? Do you want me to taste you, love?"

"God! Killian, you know it was! Yes, please! Just please stop teasing me!" He continues to stare directly into her eyes, as with a low growl he jerks her panties down around her ankles, slings one of her legs over his shoulder, and licks along her folds. Emma throws her head back on a soft moan, and then she feels his tongue slip inside of her. He tastes her exactly like he was kissing her a moment ago, a gentle yet insistent and thorough exploration. He nips at her gently, dragging his teeth lightly against her sensitive flesh. It's not just what he's doing, but the emotions that she knows are behind it that have her almost coming apart for him. And all before he slides two fingers slowly into her sheath and sucks her clit into his mouth.

"Not yet, love. I can send you shooting up among the stars with just the right flick of my tongue. But wait for me. I want to watch as you come apart around my cock, so you don't leave me stranded here on earth." She's never questioned his strength, but Emma is surprised when he smoothly rises, lifts her up, wraps her legs around him, and buries himself inside her. From this angle, she feels so much tighter, the glorious feel of her almost driving him to his knees. He spies the chair nearby. "Hold on to me, princess."

Somehow, he manages to move them both and drape her legs to either side of the chair when he sits down. Now, instead of being above him, they are eye to eye, so she can watch every shift in his expression as she slowly grinds on him. His breath hisses in when she slides down his shaft, swirling her hips when she hits bottom. He thrusts up to meet her, loving the way her irises start to change—going glassy with pleasure, then lighting up with her magic. Desire, lust, and love shoot straight to his groin because only he, Killian Jones, has the ability to wake her powers in this precise way. It's a heady thing to be able to worship and pleasure a goddess with his body, to know that his touch and his kiss can bring her ecstasy.

Emma's legs begin to tremble slightly and her movements become less controlled, less finessed. He doesn't even need to touch her, so he gathers her closer, chest rubbing against her breasts. She starts to throw her head back, but her grips the back of her neck and swallows her scream with a kiss. And then she's returning the favor as he comes, breaking apart at the seams, but being held together by her. "Oh, my goddess. My Emma love."

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"Hello! Earth to Emma! Where did you go?" It's clear from the exasperation on Ruby's face that she's been trying to get her attention for quite awhile. Ashley and Belle look concerned, but Mary Margaret just has a superior grin on her face. She's enjoying this rare chance to see her daughter actually flustered and because she can already guess where her mind was at.

The girls' night had been planned for a couple of days, so even if she had wanted to back out Emma couldn't. They'd all been busy trying to collect the pieces and reestablish order in Storybrooke; really, the only person she's spent time with since getting back is Killian, aside from her parents and Henry. Granted, she's never had a lot of girl friends over the years; she feels just as awkward with it as she does with being in a relationship. That's what had gotten her thinking about what had happened in the dressing room at Fortune's Favors about a week ago. Once the afterglow faded and they could move all of their limbs again, Killian had gotten his clothes back on and intended to let Esmeralda know what Emma's measurements were. A black corset had been hanging right outside, naturally fitting almost like it had been made for her. It had taken him maybe thirty seconds to lace her into it, and just as he'd promised, it was much more comfortable than she'd expected. She was wearing it now, in fact; it made her so much more aware of her body… having satin continuously rubbing along her skin, caressing her flesh every time she moved has her nerves perpetually stimulated. Which is apparently very bad for her attention span.

Emma takes a healthy swallow of her Poisoned Apple martini (someone had thought it a hilarious drink to send around to Snow White's table) to cover some of her nervousness. "Sorry, ladies. I just got lost in my thoughts, I guess."

Her mother actually has the nerve to smirk and raise a sarcastic eyebrow. "And I'm guessing you weren't exactly alone in those thoughts, little girl."

To make matters worse, Ruby also looks fairly amused. _Oh, god! Big bad wolf—she can probably smell Killian on me!_ Belle and Ashley share a look of confusion, but then they both focus on Emma. "Spill it, Emma! Who is he?"

She manages to put on a good show of being offended at first, but then her grin breaks through. "Who says it's a he? Maybe Ruby and I have something going. This may be Storybrooke, but it isn't the Dark Ages." Emma playfully slips an arm around her godmother and drops a lingering kiss to her cheek.

"Oh, Swan!" The she-wolf doesn't get the accent quite right, but she lowers her voice and changes her cadences for a passable impression of Killian.

The other women's mouths both drop open in shock. Ashley starts giggling and clapping. "Seriously? Good God, honey, that man is going to give you nothing but trouble! And by trouble, I mean—Whew, I'm getting hot just thinking about it! Give us details—as your second godmother, I command it. You know, in the interest of getting to know you better. How does he, uh, measure up?"

"Ash, did you just really ask our goddaughter to tell you how well-hung the pirate is, pun intended by the way, and whether he rocks her world? Because, girl, to the first—well, I may be curious, but that's Emma's business—and to the second, hello! He totally is! Check out the blush!" Ruby tosses back the rest of her martini and lets out and honest-to-god wolf howl, attracting the attention of quite a few of the guys before signaling to their waiter for another round of martinis.

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Belle had quietly excused herself for the rest of the evening not long afterward; apparently, Rumplestiltskin still wasn't fully recovered from his near-death experience, and it had taken all four of them to drag her out of the house for this long because she really didn't like being away from him. Ashley and Ruby had both gotten up to dance, rocking out on the floor together so that the drunks would leave them alone. This left Emma and Mary Margaret to comfortably nurse their drinks. "I'm sorry about your godmothers, honey. I know they didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I also know how shy you can be about everything."

"It's okay, Mom. I just… I'm not used to being important, not used to being someone that people look to for help or guidance. And I'm _really_ not used to people caring about my love life. But I guess finally knowing who I am and where I come from, I'll just have to get used to it. And I know that you just wanted to share with them because you're happy for me." Emma truly means it too; she understands, for the first time, the desire to stand on a rooftop and shout out her happiness to the world. Who knows? She might even be tempted to randomly burst into song.

Snow smiles warmly, eyes getting teary over this moment of understanding from her daughter. "Your father and I both are, Emma. All we've ever wanted, since I first knew I was pregnant with you, was for you to grow up and find your own happily ever after someday. I take it things went well with Henry?"

They chat about this and that for a while, nothing in particular, until Ruby comes up to drag them out onto the dance floor. Mary Margaret manages to slip away, but Emma's godmothers are insistent that she let loose for a bit. She joins Ashley, setting up a little trio to keep out the pervs, when a flash of something catches her eye. When she seeks it out, it isn't there, but curious, she leans a little closer to Ruby. "Obviously, you could smell him on me. Is he here?"

Her eyes widen a bit at the question, but she obligingly sniffs the air, searching for a specific scent. Her grin becomes wolfish, devilish as she nods an affirmative. Emma smirks; so, her pirate wants to play the voyeur tonight… She mouths the words to Ruby: give him a show? Ruby grabs her hand and twirls her around, and then presses her chest to Emma's back. Emma reaches her left hand back, slowly sliding her fingers through dark brown and red locks. Ruby places her hands on Emma's hips, making them sway and rotate seductively. The she-wolf rubs her cheek against Emma's and takes the opportunity to whisper in her ear. "He's at the far corner of the bar, by the door. His heart-rate just kicked up about twenty beats, and he's pumping pheromones in the air like nobody's business. You are one lucky bitch, Emma Swan."

Emma laughs, but keeps gyrating to the song, occasionally grinding up against Ruby or Ashley, who's had far too many drinks to care at this point. When "Sexy Back" comes on, she can't resist turning up the heat that much more. Instead of grinding up against her friends, she slides her hands along her body. She's wearing black leather pants for a change and at this moment, she incredibly glad she did. She glides her palms down her hips and thighs, enjoying the tactile stimulation, and feeling the heat of her skin rising up to her touch. She imagines that her hands are Killian's, brushing along her sides, but carefully avoiding her breasts. The normally cool satin of the corset/bustier practically burns her hands. She tosses her hair back and skims her fingertips along her collarbone. "Ehem… You might want to take pity on him; your boy is about to combust."

Emma smiles at Ashley and then at Ruby. "I think I forgot something at the office, so I'll have to duck out now, ladies. Think he'll be able to wait for that long?" Ruby howls again, turning more heads. Ashley just giggles and coyly tells her to have fun working late. She leaves the dance floor, grabbing her black leather jacket from their abandoned table. The vodka and apple liqueur pumping through her system have heightened her senses rather than dulled them—she only had the two drinks—so she immediately hears his boots steps as he falls in behind her. She puts an extra sway in her hips, high on the way her body feels knowing that he is watching her. No one else has made her feel genuinely sexy like this before, and she loves the way it makes her feel confident and powerful. _Her_ body has this effect on him; _she_ can bring him to his knees in a way that no one else can.

She's about a block away from the station when she hears him mutter a curse and pick up his speed. Granted, it was probably because she started stretching her arms over her head, flipping her hair along the way. Well, that and the extra shimmy of her assets. His body collides with hers, and she can fleetingly feel the hard heat of his erection against her ass before he spins her back against the brick wall. He grabs her wrists and pins them up above her head before fusing his lips to her and invading her all-too willing mouth with his tongue. He moans as she sucks hard on his bottom lip and rolls her hips into his. "Bloody infuriating wench! Do you enjoy tormenting me, princess?"

Since he has her hands trapped, her options are limited; she wraps one of her long legs around his waist and pulls him close, so she can feel the rigid length of him right where she wants him. "Only when you're being naughty and you deserve it. How long were you watching me, Killian? Did you like what you saw? Is that what's got you all hot and bothered?"

He growls before kissing her again, releasing her hands and wrapping her other leg around his waist so he can grab her ass. She sucks hard on his tongue, pulling as much of it into her mouth as she can. Her arms go around his neck, fingernails clawing at his back through his jacket. He pins her hard against the wall, thrusting his hips up and rubbing against her. Even without his touch or being wrapped around his cock, her pussy clenches and flutters; she can't stop the mewling and whimpering that comes out of her throat. They haven't touched each other like this in a week (Rule #1: no sex with Henry in the house), and they are both ready to explode with needing and wanting. "Does anyone have the authority to arrest the sheriff for public indecency and exhibitionism? Because by the gods, lass, I want to fuck you right here!"

His question would be funny if she weren't tempted to let him do just that. She bites down on his neck when he roughly palms one of her breasts, licking and sucking the spot for good measure. She plays with his earring, taking it into her mouth as she nibbles his earlobe. "Actually, Regina does. So, unless you want to risk it, care to help me finish up some paperwork, Captain?"

She unwraps herself from around him, getting to her feet unsteadily, but pulling him close by his coat for another white-hot kiss. "Abusing your elected post, Sheriff? How scandalously wicked of you! I quite approve."

Their grins and heated starts match each other in their intensity, and Emma realizes that one of them needs to keep a cool head if they have any prayer of making it to the station with all their clothes on at this point. She grabs his right hand in hers and wraps it around her waist, pulling him along with her. Clearly, he's decided to be less than helpful because he keeps sliding his leg along hers as they walk and hasn't stopped kissing and nibbling her neck. It would be impressive that he can do this while walking, if it weren't such a distracting turn-on. They finally make it to the familiar glass door, but when Emma pulls out her keys, he pushes her up against the cold glass. His heat at her back, combined with the chill at her front is intensely erotic—part of her literally remaining cool and calm, while the rest of her is on fire with lust.

She moans as one of his hands dips down to rub her through the leather she's wearing. Killian has her so distracted that he steals her keys, unlocks the door, and spins her inside before her brain can process anything. He lets her go, his hands pressed against the cold glass as he engages the lock. "Run while you can, princess."

Emma plants her hands on her hips. "I'm the sheriff here, pirate. You walked into _my_ gin joint, which means you have to play by _my_ rules. And besides, all the handcuffs in here belong to be. So, hop along." She crooks her finger at him and struts into the main office like she owns the place—which she does. She goes straight into her office, kicks her chair back toward the wall, and starts digging through her drawers.

"Strip, then sit." Much like he did not so long ago, she leans against the filing cabinets along the wall, expecting him to follow her commands. Killian wonders if she knows just how hard it makes him, the thought of her being the one in control tonight, the idea of being dominated by her. Unfortunately, he hadn't dressed himself with her titillation in mind, but he's nothing if not resourceful. In his mind's eye, he can see the way she danced to the music earlier, the movements of her body mimicking the very acts the planned on committing momentarily. With his eyes locked on her eyes, her familiar yet seductive curves, and the luscious sweep of her hair, he moves sinuously, as if to music that only the two of them can hear. Invading her space, but not touching her, he works open the buttons of his coat one at a time, then after letting it slowly slip off of his arms, he tosses it into the corner.

Her eyes momentarily flick to the side, tracking the movement like any good predator will, but then her focus is back to him. She's clearly admiring the way his grey t-shirt clings to his arms, licking her lips at she looks him up and down. He toes off his work-boots and socks and kicks them into the corner as well, while he undoes the buckle of his belt. A thought flits across her eyes that makes him even harder with hopeful anticipation—she might have a use for that bit of clothing later. He slides the leather out of the belt loops and carefully, drapes it across Emma's shoulders. Last, but not least, he fists the cotton fabric in his left hand, pulling up to slowly reveal his abs. Her breathing hitches when he finally takes the shirt off completely and throws in on the growing pile. Unfortunately, jeans are not exactly conducive to a strip tease, so he gets out of them as quickly as he can manage.

Finally, Killian sits down in her chair, entirely naked. She stalks toward him, handcuffs already out and gleaming dark silver in the moonlight that's filtering in through the blinds. "You know, every single time I sit in that chair now, I'm going to imagine you looking exactly like this. I'm going to enjoy remembering every dirty, naughty, delicious little thing that I did to you, and how much you fucking loved it."

Emma swings a leg over him, straddling his thighs before inching just a bit forward. She takes his hands and cuffs them behind his back. She runs her fingers through his hair, then grips tightly and pulls his head back painfully; he leans further back, stretching his neck. She bites down on his Adam's apple, and he groans at the pleasurable sting. "Now, I know you _can_ pick your way out of those, Jones, but then I'd have to punish you for resisting arrest. So be a doll, would you, and try not to be a smart ass. I'll ask you if you have a Safe word, but I know that you don't. You have far too many scars to account for battles, _love_, so I know that enjoy blood play. Would that turn you on, Jones? Having me cut you, make you bleed? Paint your pretty white skin red?"

She says it in such an innocent, yet authoritative tone, her voice purring along his skin. He didn't think his cock could get any stiffer, could strain for her touch any harder, yet it manages to. He'd never meant to keep it a secret from her, his love of extreme pain, but he wonders how she figured it out… He hasn't been focused on her, so he doesn't see the slap coming. It's open-handed and meant to sting. She repeats the gesture to the other side of his face before gripping his chin in her hand. "I asked you some questions, Jones. I expect prompt fucking answers if you don't want me improvising a cock-ring for you and not letting you come tonight."

"Gods, Emma! Yes! You can see that it does. And no, I don't have a Safe word, but gods please touch me, love!" Another slap lands on each of his cheeks, then she bites hard into the skin above his heart, drawing a little bit of blood. His vision blurs at the edges, the pain already pushing him into sub-space and toward orgasm. But she licks her teeth clean before he can see anything.

"No endearments tonight, Jones. You need to be punished for watching me, for being a naughty little voyeur. If you had told me that we were playing, then I might have been a little more forgiving." Emma pulls the leather belt off of her shoulders, letting it make a slithering sound against her skin and the satin of her corset. She folds it in half, testing how supple the material is before lashing it against his left thigh. He grunts when the strap meets his skin. A small, red welt is already beginning to bloom, but then she strikes against his right inner thigh, this time making him hiss and moan. Clearly, she remembers the lesson he inadvertently taught her that very first night—strike randomly, never in the same place, never with the same force, and never let them anticipate. The last is harder because she's facing him, but she manages. His thighs and calves are stripped with welts before Emma finally starts slipping out of her pants.

Killian moans when he sees that she isn't wearing any panties underneath. She slips off her dark-blue button-down blouse, so that all she's wearing is the black satin corset. She looks every inch a Domme, and he is desperate to please her. She pulls him and the chair close to the desk, then sits up on it, ass right on the edge. When Emma spreads her thighs open, her pussy is gloriously drenched and ready for him. "You act like you haven't seen a cunt before and don't know what to do with it, Jones."

Taking the statement as permission, he buried his tongue in her pussy, licking like a cat with a bowl of cream. She moans, and he looks up to see that she's pulled her breasts free of the corset and has started tweaking her already swollen nipples. He sucks her clit into his mouth, tugging on it with his teeth and laving it with his tongue. The action makes her hips buck up off the desk slightly, making him grin. He loves the way she tastes and smells when she's wanton like this, a sort of sweet muskiness that drives him mad with the need to thrust his cock inside her and hit that spot deep inside that will have her writhing for him. Emma's panting now, roughly kneading her breasts and restlessly lifting her hips into his face. She's so close, but he doesn't have his hands to work with to push her over the edge. On a hunch, he sucks her folds into his mouth as well and, after a few more thrusts of his tongue inside her, he bites down on them and her clit simultaneously. He's rewarded with a startled curse and more of her juices slipping into his mouth.

He continues slowly savoring her, licking her sensitive spots to pull another shudder out of her. She looks up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure. "You've been holding out on me, Jones."

She hops off the desk, faster than he would have anticipated her being able to move at this point; but soon he can't see a damn thing, because she's finally, blissfully impaled herself on his throbbing cock. The denial of her touch and her sheath for so long sent him into a state where the merest brush against him would have brought him to his knees in bliss. Finding his length sheathed in her warm, wet grip almost makes him come. She starts riding him hard, clearly trying to make him orgasm and give her a reason for punishing him. But she'd forgotten than Killian Jones is a past master at self-denial. He thrusts his hips up to meet hers when she bottoms out, stimulating her still-swollen and sensitive clit. She throws back her head, reveling in the sensations—all thoughts of domination and control surrendered to the feel of him buried inside her. He's never wanted to touch her more than he does now, but he plays by her rules and keeps his hands in the cuffs.

He can feel hard spasm start deep in her pussy; she's going to come very soon, and it might even make her pass out. "You're coming again. Please let me come. Gods, I want to come with you!" And then it doesn't matter because he can't stop the orgasm from rolling him under. His vision goes bright white, as all of the tension flows out of his body in spurts. Vaguely, he feels Emma licking his collarbone; as her own orgasm hit, she had bitten down hard enough to make him bleed. The stinging rasp of her tongue against the wound sends another wave through his body and into hers. His head is hanging back over his hands, completely boneless and satiated, too spent to move. Never in all his years has he ever felt something this powerful, this earth-shattering. And it's one more first, one more link in the chain that is slowly, but surely binding him to Emma Swan.


	7. Red as Blood

Life had finally begun to settle into a routine for Emma and Killian. Despite their particularly rigid restriction on behaving appropriately while Henry was at the loft, they manage to see and spend a little time together at least twice every day. Whether he has a project he's working on or a day on-site to learn a new construction technique, or whether she has to work a double shift at the station or not, he comes by the apartment every morning to lace her into her corset and every night to help unlace it and massage her skin. Especially the evenings are becoming a test of their formidable powers of self-control, with his hands kneading and caressing parts of her body whose nerves are already strung taut—flesh that has become hyper-aware on account of the restrictive boning and the lush sensual fabrics of her lingerie. While sitting at her desk finishing her formal report to the council and occasionally glancing up with a satisfied grin to admire the pair of regal prisoners that she apprehended yesterday, her every deep, even breath reminds her of her very first day of corset training. And what she has to look forward to tonight.

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_Three and a Half Weeks Ago_

_Thankfully, Henry had already fallen asleep and all was blissfully quiet as she and Killian sat and discussed odds and ends with her parents. Not only was it a calm, soothing moment to know that her son wasn't having a nightmare, but it was also nice to just have adult time with her Mom and Dad. After very formally assuring Snow and David that "nothing untoward" would happen, they slipped softly to Emma's room hand in hand. She closed the door and gently pushed him against it, knowing that she's playing with fire, yet still unable to resist the call, the gravitational pull she feels toward him every time he's near. She carefully placed a hand to either side of his face and leaned in to kiss him. The smooth glide, the sensual brush of his lips against hers is such a simple action for the depth of feeling it stirs in her at times; she could be content to do just this—act like a teenager and make-out with him for hours—and yet, at the very same time, desire to make love to him, excruciatingly slow and thorough as she explores every inch of his body; and yet again yearn to be untamed and passionately uninhibited. It's a mystery how he can make her want in such a way, burn for him every second like this._

_And she pours all these contradicting desires into this fusion of mouths, into a kiss that threatens—like a collapsing star—to drag them under. She desperately wants to surrender, having learned just how powerful, just how exquisite it can be to let the passion have its way with them. But her own stubborn will cannot match his; he pulls back from her lips, breaths coming in heaving pants that caress her face and neck. Killian groans, a tormented sound of pure, frustrated lust. "Normally, I'd say that rules were made for breaking, lass. However, I did just give my word as a gentleman… How about we establish a pattern of good behavior first? Save up some good-will, so that asking for forgiveness later will be just a touch easier?"_

"_Damn your rules, Jones, and screw being a gentleman! We can even make it a game… whoever makes the loudest sound loses." He chuckles darkly, a sinful sounds that sends shivers racing down her spine._

"_Our rules, love. And think of it as an exercise in delayed gratification. Imagine how torturously delightful, how intense the sensations will be once we have the chance to…indulge ourselves without such concerns for restraint and silence." Emma groans, even more turned on by his words than she was at his kiss. As much as she hates it when he's right, she agrees, pulling reluctantly away from him and turning to give him her back. She sighs as his nimble fingers quickly loosen the laces, allowing her to breathe freely and more easily remove the constricting corset. The incidental brushes of his hands against her skin send more heat and chills skittering across her thoroughly aroused body._

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She sighs, because the damn report won't finish itself, meaning she has to get her head (and the rest of her) focused on something other than the overly skillful hands of one Killian Jones. Finally catching the former kings Midas and George had taken a lot more effort than originally hoped for. You'd think that two men responsible for the destruction of a lot of people's lives and homes wouldn't have much of a following left. But apparently, there were enough citizens in Storybrooke who resented the new regime that had been set up when the royal family had disappeared to save one of their own in Neverland, enough to keep hiding the rogue kings who wanted to be the ones holding the reins of power. She had been seriously tempted to take Ruby up on her offer to just wolf-out and eat the two prisoners, because they had been nothing but pains in her ass from the moment she stepped back onto the docks.

She rolls her shoulders and neck, hoping to relieve some of her tension, but it's really no use. And worse, Emma can feel a headache forming as well. When you think about it, the only good thing about having finally caught these two is that she no longer has to be chasing down lead after lead. She groans when she hears the sound of the front door opening—people have been wandering in and out of the station all day to get a look at the prisoners, some to taunt and others to berate, but all to assure themselves that the two former monarchs are really behind bars. "Emma, honey! Where are you?"

"In here, Mom." She's been making an effort with Snow, trying to be empathetic to her desire to act like a mother to her; yet another development that can probably be attributed to Killian's calming, consistent influence on her. But Snow isn't the only parent who walks in, slightly surprising Emma. Not only is David also here, but he's wearing his shoulder holster with his guns. "Okay… Do I really want to know why you showed up here armed?"

"Well, Emma, your mother and I have been thinking and doing a lot of talking… And it's not right for you to have to handle all of the sheriff duties by yourself. I know that I stepped in when you two fell through the portal, so I didn't get to ask you then, but is there any way you could possibly consider bringing me on as your deputy?"

Whatever she had been expecting, she really hadn't seen anything like this coming. To be honest, she assumed that her parents would step in as heads of the town and council. Who would believe that their King was actually working for his daughter, their Princess? She knew that plenty of people had been upset by the fact that she and the rest had assumed their full titles and duties as royalty, but this could cause a whole other break. "Emma, honey, one of the duties of royalty is that we serve the people, and in this world, those who protect us and keep us safe are the ones who serve the most."

"Your mother's right. Plus, seeing us on a daily basis will calm everyone's fears that we mean to simply rule from a distance, will help them realize that we genuinely care about them and their families."

"Okay, guys. Enough. You don't need to convince me, because less hours at the station sound really appealing at the moment. But are you sure that this is what you want, Dad? Are you 100%?" None of them like reminders of the dangers of Neverland, but if she's going to be handing over the safety of the town to _anyone_, she needs to know that they are as physically capable and fit as she is.

"For the last time, I am fine. And I can think of nothing better than to spend my time working with you, Emma. I know how to fight and how to defuse tense situations… I can do this." She glares at him mock-menacingly, because she's missed having him around the station. She and her father had actually established a friendly relationship before, with him acting as deputy between the return from the Enchanted Forest and the trip to Neverland. But after Neal had died, David's focus had become less on being her friend and more on acting like her father. It had strained things between them, and she found herself missing that solid support and friendship. So, not only would deputizing him give her more free time, it might help improve thing between them.

"Alright. Since you're so eager to be deputy, you can start now." Emma stands up and quickly grabs her jacket from the coat rack and her keys from the desk. David and Snow look at her with genuinely confused stares.

"Wait! Well, where are you going?"

"I have a report to deliver to the council regarding their arrest, plus, now that you're officially my deputy, I suppose they'll need to be informed about that too." Of course, that's only half of what has now suddenly appeared as a possibility on Emma's agenda. She smiles to herself before ducking her head back inside the door. "Oh and… Don't wait up for me."

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After finding and speaking with Mother Superior for a bit regarding her report and various minor matters of council, Emma heads over to the apartment for a quick shower and change of clothes intent on surprising Killian. She refuses to think of him as her boyfriend because the term just sounds so childish and doesn't come close to adequately describing their relationship. Plus old habits die hard, and once you've spent a good portion of your life running from "emotional entanglements" of any variety, changing the way you view and relate to others isn't exactly easy. But she's trying, for herself as much as for him. She walks to his cabin, enjoying the rare opportunity to see him just because she wants to.

She's always lived in bigger cities since she got out of the system, so she's surprised that she's adapted to living in the sticks so well. Maybe it's just something she inherited from her parents, something she's learning from Henry and Killian. She walks into the house, putting her keys, cell phone, and badge down on the kitchen table like always. Despite the many projects he has going on, both with the construction job and here at the cabin, she's always surprised to find the place scrupulously clean—a habit he picked up from the navy, he says. When she first pictured him in a Navy officer's uniform, she had to admit that the look she had in mind would suit him really well. But then again, she was thinking of the _current U.S. navy_, and not the get-up he did a quick sketch of for her; and don't even get her started on trying to imagine him with a ponytail! Once they'd finally talked about his past and hers, traded their stories, she'd been shocked that he could laugh about his time in the service. She knew that memories of his brother were painful, but she was glad that he could remember some of them fondly and without the bitterness of his loss.

However, while she's looking around, checking all the rooms, she's still missing her captain. He'd told her that he would be working at the cabin today, so that means he either went into town for something or he's in his workshop. It hadn't taken her by surprise that he enjoyed working with his hands—aside from the happiness of having both of them again, he's always seemed very active to her, constantly in motion in one way or another. However, she'd been a little shocked at just how good he was at making and fixing things, how he could take practically anything and turn it into a work of art. She supposes that she should have noticed that the door to the old shed is propped open, but no one else is around to comment on her shoddy detective skills so she just shrugs it off.

She leans against the doorframe, watching him do what he does best. To her, it looks like an ordinary piece of wood that he's clearly taken a lot of time and care on. But for Killian? She knows that he already sees the completed piece in his mind, whatever it's destined to be carved into or used to build. There are wood curls and saw-dust all over the floor—even some on his shoulders and in his hair—but it's his hands that truly have her attention. At the moment, he has a brush in his left and is smoothing varnish carefully over the surface. He'd told her that he was originally left-handed, which had lead to a bit of a learning curve when he'd crossed paths with Rumplstiltskin; he'd even joked about being ambidextrous now thanks to her, a quip that warmed her to the core because of the adoring look in his eyes when he said it. He looked so at peace, so focused and content; she'd given him that, she was responsible for that inner happiness.

It's why Emma often finds herself passing by whatever job site he's working on during the day—she just enjoys watching him be himself. But, if she's being honest with herself, she's usually goes and ends up turned on because of the things she's imagining him doing than with what he's actually doing at the moment. Killian Jones in all his pirate glory certainly does it for her, but she can't deny that this world's clothes aren't half bad on him either. Especially the shirts she bought him that fit on the tighter side and show off all his hard work. She thought she'd been stealthy, but apparently not enough, or her musings got the better of her and she made some normally imperceptible sound. He sets down his brush on the lid of the can of varnish and grabs the rag from his back pocket of his jeans to wipe off his hands. She pushes away from the doorframe and wraps her arms around his waist, rubbing her cheek and then nose against his back, breathing in his distinct scent.

"How long have you been standing there watching me, lass?"

She loves the sound of his voice, the way it reverberates through his body and into hers. If she weren't already mentally stripping his clothes off, she certainly is now; the man could probably read the dictionary, and she'd find it sexy. But it's not his vocabulary that she's interested in at the moment. She kisses his shoulder, sliding her hands down to the waistband of his jeans, trying to pull his t-shirt out so that she can caress his stomach. "Mmmm… Long enough. You know how much I like watching you work with your amazing, talented, skilled, beautiful hands."

She pouts when he hisses and catches her fingers with his, stopping her from untucking his shirt. "Oh really? And is there something in particular you were wanting the aforementioned capable, gifted, and _well-endowed_ hands to be working on?"

Emma sucks her lower lip into her mouth before rising on her toes, grinning wickedly, and softly whispering into his ear. "So many things, baby. So many, many, naughty things."

She shrieks when he pulls her around, trapping her so that she's caged in his arms with her back pressed against his chest, and then moans when his laugh rumbles along her spine and he rubs his hardening length against her ass. "It was your perfume, by the way, love. Wind was blowing into my workshop, so I scented you before you went into the house. But it was _this_ that told me you were watching, my little voyeuristic princess."

Emma tries, but fails to hold back the whimper in her throat as his left hand slides down under her skirt, fingers expertly flicking aside her damp panties to touch her hot skin. "Been thinking about someone in particular, love? Your thoughts must be quite scandalous from the state you're in. And to what does this humble citizen of Storybrooke owe this delightful yet unexpected visit from the most beautiful, seductive, tempting sheriff in town?"

"To two things actually. One, David has decided that he officially wants to be my deputy, so I told him that the _very_ first order of business was for him to take over at the station so I could take some much needed time off. And two, which is the real reason I've earned the right to a little relaxation and fun, is the fact that two previously smug royal bastards are currently sitting in my cells for thinking that they could get away with torching _my_ town."

"Mmm… your town, is it? I do so enjoy a powerful, possessive woman. As the first resident of _your_ town to have congratulated you on your stunning, fully expected victory, I feel a sort of obligation to see _my_ sheriff adequately rewarded and compensated for her laborious, tireless, indefatigable efforts put forth in service to this town." Emma smiles when he takes her hand in his, none too subtly licking the fingers of his other, and leads her into the cabin. He'd said something similar when he came over last night for their stay at home dinner and movie date. Of course, with Henry and her parents there his tone, delivery, and choice of words had been a little more innocent, although no less titillating to her or possibility laden; among other things, being around Killian has given her a better appreciation for and ability to discern double entendres. When it comes to sex and all things pleasurable, he really does have the most creatively wicked mind, and she's realized that she really wouldn't have him any other way.

"In fact, in honor of your successful apprehension of those two dastardly villains, I have a bit of a surprise for you, love."

"I've already been inside, and I didn't see any surprises."

"Ah, but that is because your delightfully sensual self was looking for me, not for anything I might have hidden. Which gives me the rather exceptional idea of devising a game for you someday. You are a pirate at heart after all, my dear—would you fancy a search for buried treasure?" He hisses through his teeth and his eyes roll back a bit before closing, when Emma cups him through his jeans. Like her, Killian is so rigidly in control of himself and how he allows others to perceive him, which is why she so thoroughly enjoys unguarded moments like this. It's empowering to know that she's the only one who can shake him like this, can make him abandon all his walls and his masks. He doesn't feel the need for pretense and personas; when they're with each other, they can both lay down the armor and just be themselves. He wraps his arms around her before she can escape, kissing her cheek and then giving it a playful nibble as well. "Saucy wench! Give me five minutes—sit here and don't move one inch!"

She laughs as he pushes her gently, making her fall and bounce onto the bed, and then disobeys just so she can slap his ass as he's leaving the room. She quickly jumps back to where she had been told, primly crossing her legs and settling her hands on her knee. She's momentarily struck by how much she's changed by being with him, by having a real adult relationship for the first time. It's not that she's suddenly a giggly, teenaged twit; she and Killian aren't even widely recognized as a couple, despite several breakfast and lunch dates at Granny's. It's the subtle, simple things—like not feeling like she's carry the weight of the town on her own shoulders, like she can be happy without worrying when the other shoe will fall. There's a stability to being confident that the person by your side can be trusted, that his strengths will compliment yours, that he won't let you go. She feels safe for the first time ever.

In exactly five minutes, he's back with a load of firewood in his arms. He brushes a fingertip along the slope of her nose before setting up the fireplace. But instead of lighting it, he wipes the flecks of wood and dirt from his palms and walks over to her. Without a word, he holds his hands out for her; and when she places them in his, he drops a gentle, worshipful kiss on each one. "Tonight is all about you, princess; I am merely your humble servant, here to see to your every whim and need."

He sets her hands on the bed on either side of her body, before kneeling down and taking her left leg in his hands. Without taking his eyes off of her, he carefully removes her boot, eliciting a moan when he begins massaging her foot. "If you aren't careful there, sailor, a girl just might get used to this."

He shakes his head at her, despite knowing full well she can't see him with her eyes closed and her head tilted back like that. "When are you going to learn, darling? I _**want**_ you to get used to this. I want to spend every moment of all the time we get to spend together doing things that make you happy, that will make you smile. And whether that means massaging your feet, or making love to you, or eating dinner with your family, or just holding you in my arms…whatever it takes, love."

Part way through his little speech, she had opened her eyes and focused back on him. Emma had thought that the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her was the secret he shared in the Echo Cave in Neverland—that he had believed himself incapable of ever loving someone else again, until he met her. But she can't stop the tears forming in her eyes at this new, impossibly more romantic Killian Jones. She's always resigned romance to a very low spot on her long list of priorities, but he has somehow managed to shake up her life in the most amazing ways. She suddenly curses the fact that she isn't as good with words as he is, that she's never thought to put their love into such beautiful, poetic thoughts, and feels like she doesn't deserve him. And nothing flows forth except her tears, but he somehow knows precisely what she's feeling and thinking.

He takes her hands in his and leads her to the bathroom, opening the door to reveal a tub that's filling with steamy, hot water and bubbles, surrounded by several large red pillar candles. Two glasses and a bottle of wine sit on an end table right next to the bath, everything lightly gilded by the flickering candlelight. As if it's the most natural thing in the world to him, Killian kneels back down in front of her, placing one of her feet on his knee. He slowly, worshipfully takes the top of her thigh high stocking and slips it down and off her leg, repeating the process with the other. His motions and touch are sensual, roughened calluses smoothing gently over her soft skin, with barely even a hint of the sexual tension and desire that seems to always flow between them. Once again, he's putting his words into direct action, in this case, acting as her own personal servant.

She watches as he undresses her, enjoying the sight of being catered to and cared for; it's only with him that she feels like this, like the princess everyone expects her to be. How ironic then, that he's the only one who has never demanded that she be anything except for Emma. The man who asks for nothing from her is the one who deserves everything, and yet he still expects her to stand there and act as if it means nothing to her. Which is why she took the time to change before she got here, so in even the smallest of ways, she can _**show**_ him how much he means to her. She hears his gasp, the barest hint of what he's feeling and seeing as he's pulling her sweater off over her head—her favorite corset, edged with black lace, but of a silk the same true blue as his eyes. She lifts her arms above her head, catching her left wrist in her right hand as she slowly spins to give her his back.

Emma whimpers softly as his fingers trace the pattern of her laces before slipping them free, his lips brushing against her spine from just above the corset to the nape of her neck. She can hear gentle whispering before each caress, but she cannot make out his words. If he had meant for her to hear, then she would have; yet she's fairly certain that he's saying the exact same thing every time: thank you. His hands leave her body, but she's so caught up in his spell that it takes her several moments to process their absence. And by the time she turns around, he's already stripped all of his clothing off. He lets the corset simply fall, leaving her as bare to him and he already is to her. He takes her hands as if they are delicate porcelain, helping her step into the tub with him before he sits down and opens his arms to her.

She kneels down between his legs, all of her thoughts shining unspoken in her eyes. She takes Killian's face in her hands, silently wondering to herself why it took her so long to see and admit the truth to herself. Wonderingly, she brushes her thumb over her lips. "I know, lass. You don't need to-"

His eyes are bright, almost as if he too is trying to hold back tears, but he looks away, focusing on pulling her body around so that she can sit in the tub and lean back against him. Once she's settled, he reaches to the table and retrieves her glass of wine for her. He brushes her hair to the side, lightly kissing her neck and shoulder. "Just relax, love. No more words unless you want them. Just…be here, with me."

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Two days later on a job site with the Bacon brothers, Killian is still grinning like a fool. Granted, he's known for a long time the Emma loves him, that she's been falling in love with him a little bit every day since he started proving his own devotion to her. But hearing the words whispered to him in her voice, with the truth of it shining out of her eyes as he felt her come apart for him… That moment is a memory he will treasure and cherish every second of every day of the rest of his life. He replays the other night in his mind constantly as he's chipping away at the block of marble for the fireplace mantle-piece. "Hey, Killian! We need help off-loading some more of this granite for the kitchen!"

He smiles as he waves, unsure which of the three brothers actually called him over—they all look like the bloody same person to him. He's careful to put his tools away properly, but it's this delay which leads to disaster striking. The oldest brother, unused to anything except desk work for the last three years, had the brilliant idea to show up on site today and help, muttering some excuse about his doctor telling him that he needs more exercise. Between him on the ground and his youngest brother in the bed of the truck is a massive 100+ pound slab of solid granite rock; the property owner had wanted granite everything for their kitchen, and the stuff can usually only be found in large pieces like these. Killian speeds up after a shared glance with the man up on the truck, seeing for himself that the older man is struggling. He gets there just as Bacon loses his grip on the rock piece, catching it as it's falling. But the piece is just too heavy to be catching like that, and he can practically see everything happen in slow motion as his right hand hits the ground, followed by the end of the slab.

Pain doesn't even register at first, although years of experience tell him that some of the bones are definitely broken, if not crushed. His next thought is about the irony of gaining his left hand back, only to then be deprived of the right. Once the shock wears off, and everyone is clamoring around him about hospitals, surgeries, and doctors, his next thought is for Emma. He doesn't pass out from the pain (barely) when the middle brother carefully wraps a bandana around the fingers to stop the bleeding. Then he's ushered into one of the company trucks and taken into Storybrooke General. When the doors to the emergency room open, Emma is already pacing back and forth. "Lass."

He barely gets the word out around the pain he's feeling, but she whips her head at the sound of his voice, eyes bright with worry and concern. She waves off the shrill explanations and apologies. "Just go back to the worksite, all of you. I will take care of him from here. Just go."

The three men jump, clearly frightened at the anger and vehemence in her voice, but they are quick to run away precisely as she commands. "Emma, love…"

"Let me see it, Killian. And please be quiet so I can focus." Her tone has softened from what it was just moments ago, for all intents and purposes pleading with him. She's infinitely gentle and careful, reaching out and cradling his ruined hand in hers. He hears a low keening sound that must be coming from her, but he can't tell for sure because she is so focused on the blood-soaked bandage. He sees a tear fall, watches it drop onto the uncovered tip of one finger, but he can no longer feel it. Her eyes close and breath huffs out in frustration, but she continues to be mindful of his hand and the pain he's still in. "I don't understand… Why isn't this working?!"

Her outburst catches the attention of the nurses who now start fluttering around uselessly. Several of them mention something about a whale and stats, but in their panic, one of them jostles Emma.

"Gods!" Killian can't hold back the exclamation as pain and fire radiate up his nerves. He clenches his teeth back together, but the damage has been done. Sweat starts beading on his brow and all he can think about is drowning himself in a vat of rum like he did when cook cauterized his left stump all those years ago.

"Back away! Go annoy someone else! I can handle this!" Even having seen the depths of Emma's anger on Neverland when they had faced off against Pan, Killian has never beheld her in such a state before. Her magic is still young, mostly raw ability and power…

"Lass… An idea… My hand—when you healed it before—it was when we… We were…" He can't manage to get out the rest of his thought, whether from embarrassment or pain, she's not quite sure. But she understands the gist of what he's trying to convey.

"You're in no condition to be jostled around like that, Killian Jones! That better be the pain talking!"

He rolls his eyes, as if silently beseeching whatever gods to have mercy on him. "I do believe we've discovered… the one deterrent to any thoughts of… a lascivious nature. But… more than one… way to skin a cat… aye?"

He's sweating bullets now, and tears are beginning to leak down his cheeks like twin faucets. Emma looks him directly in the eye and nods, carefully kneeling down between his legs. She takes his face in her hands, her expression stormier and more conflicted than he's ever seen; but he quickly realizes that these feelings are being fueled by her worry for him. Their love has never yet failed, and she's frightened that this might be the first time it does. He turns his head so he can brush a kiss to each palm before returning his gaze to hers, and in the strongest, surest voice he can muster says the only thing that can reassure her. "Not until I met you."

Her smile in that moment is probably the most radiant thing he's ever seen in his entire life. That glow of joy and happiness on Emma Swan's face transforms her beloved and beautiful features into something transcendent and ethereal. He feels his own heart swell, ache, and beat faster as her stare flickers between his eyes and his lips. She closes the distance, gently brushing her lips against his before pressing more firmly. He feels warmth flow through his from this simple contact, can almost physically sense and touch the love that has grown between them and is encompassed in this small kiss. Together, they open to the other, perfectly echoing, mirroring their mate. But the warmth doesn't fade away—it pulses and intensifies until it seems as though time has stopped.

When it begins again, Emma cries out as she feels a flash of pain through her hand. Killian reaches out to steady her, catching her by the shoulders, before it suddenly hits him—not only is his right hand good as new, but he swears that he can feel someone holding him up, keeping him from collapsing to the floor. He hears her gasp. "Oh, my god!"

"What's the matter, lass? Are you alright?" He reaches out to brush aside her hair, and again, the sensation strikes him as if someone is doing the same thing to him.

"Your eyes, Killian… They're… well they're glowing! Like…" More firmly, almost as if assuring himself that she's real, he cups her cheek and rubs his thumb across her skin. Swearing softly, he almost knocks her over in his haste to get up. He grips her hand in his and starts moving, head swiveling back and forth frantically as if keeping an eye out for Crocodiles and Lost Boys again. She would laugh at this, except he's dragging her along with him and doesn't give her a chance to slow him down.

Quickly, he yanks open one of the many doors lining the hallway and practically flings her inside. He follows her as swiftly as he always does, drawn to her irresistibly, before pushing her up against one of the metal shelving units. But then he backs away, stalking back and forth as if he's wrestling with something; she's never said so out loud, but his impetuousness is one of the many things she finds so fascinating about him, the ability to be entirely new and unpredictable no matter how much she knows about him. It's a turn on—to one minute be kissing him gently, and the next to have him panting to have her. "Killian, what are you?-"

She never finishes her sentence because something completely unexpected happens, as waves of sensation cause her to moan. His eyes are a molten, silvery blue that's breathtaking in its intense, hypnotic beauty. He's still several feet away, staring at her like a panther that's ready to consume its prey, but she can still Feel his arousal, just as if it were already nestled at the juncture of her thighs. So real, the feeling increases the burning in her blood, flushes her skin with longing and heat, and causes her nipples to harden. But now he's the one who's moaning, and Emma watches stunned as his own begin to noticeably press up against his t-shirt. "What's happening to me, love? Don't get me wrong—it feels fucking incredible—but once you started kissing me… Why can I feel everything your body is feeling? I just thought about your—oh, gods!"

Whatever he was saying gets lost in the rush of moisture that she experiences. Coherent thoughts and complete sentences suddenly seem very difficult concepts. "Umm… I don't mean to upset you, Killian, but… there's a pretty good chance you're magical."

"What?! Why would you say that?"

"Well, you know how my eyes are different when I use magic? Well, I sort of noticed on our first date that your eyes were glowing with it, and that's what they're doing right now."

He pins her with his body and his glare, pulling an involuntary whimper from Emma and a rumbling moan from his own throat as the double assault on their pleasure zones rolls over and between them. "And you're just telling me this now, lass, because?..."

"Mmmm… Focus right. Umm… You kind of distracted me at the time and I somehow managed to forget?"

"Forget bloody magic, Emma?!"

"You were very… compelling and engaging at the time! I can't help having a one-track mind when you're naked and doing your best to seduce me!"

The breathy need and longing that colors Emma's voice sends another heated rush of blood to his groin; she must be feeling it too because she gasps, bites her lower lip, and throws her head back against the shelf behind her. Killian feels even more warmth, a tightening of his muscles low in his stomach and into his thighs that must be her pleasure. His hands flex, making the metal shelves shift and groan. She opens her eyes just a bit to look at him, but enough for him to see that hers are magic-shot like she says his are. Finally, he can't resist or restrain himself anymore and he kisses her. Every passionate nip, every gentle melding, every epic battle for control cannot compare to this; it's like he's never truly kissed her before today, never fully learned all the things that they have come to crave about each other. Within moments of his lips touching hers, he would swear that he wouldn't have lasted a second longer; they haven't even begun and already he's poised on the edge of coming.

He thinks he hears fabric tearing (his shirt, thank gods, and not hers), but then his cock is buried inside her. Time and space mean nothing—only Emma, only Killian. Their magic makes her glow, molten heat trapped in the confines of her body that he's desperate to connect to. Their hips slam together furiously, her sheath gripping him tight, yet also perfectly wet for him. The tiniest movements cause explosions all along the various nerves of their bodies—the thrill and terror of riding through a portal or standing in the middle of a magic storm is the only thing they can compare it to. She throws her head back again, pulling him forward by his hair so he can pay homage to her neck while he fucks her. He licks, bites, kisses the soft, thin skin, receiving back from her the pleasure he's giving; even the vibrations of every whimper and moan radiate back and forth. He never wants this to end, this connection he has with Emma; because while their minds are swept clean of words, ideas and emotions remain that cannot be captured by language or action alone. What he feels most in this moment, beyond the physical, is the awesome sense of the depth of her love for him.

If he weren't already speechless, hopelessly besotted and devoted to her…He has no bloody clue how to repay what she's giving him except through the worship of his body. He captures her lips and thrusts harder, searching for more friction, more anything so long as it will make her happy, cause her to continue to writhe in exquisite, decadent pleasure. It's frantic, frenetic, and neither of them wants it to stop. But finally the tension snaps, as their minds and bodies can take no more; the energy between them collapses in a fiery, destructive fusion—where two beings cease to exist in separate space. A singular peal of sound breaks forth, preceding the explosion and leaving something else entirely in its wake. Neither can tell where Killian ends and Emma begins, because such distinctions no longer exist anymore.

Her core continues to contract while he continues to pulse inside of her, both somehow having managed to remain upright. Each of her breaths ends in either a whimper or a sigh, the aftershocks of their ecstasy almost painful in their intensity. When he finally pulls himself from her body, it's with a euphoric, yet tortured groan. "Gods, love! That was…"

She all but purrs at him, her voice excited and airy. "Magical? Amazing? Jaw-droppingly, mind-blowingly, fucking brilliant?"

Emma opens her eyes just a bit so that he can see a hint of sex-hazed, magically swirling green. He chuckles, a rumble that vibrates back and forth from his chest to hers, and causes him to tighten his grip on her thighs. Already, he can feel his erection stirring back to life, his desire for her crystallizing despite the literal after-glow. "Have I ever told you how much I love it when you talk dirty, princess?"

She reaches between their bodies to stroke the hardened length of his shaft—a lazy movement that still causes him to throw back his head and close his eyes. Flickers of what he's feeling start to spark along the nerves of her folds and clit. Curious, she changes the tempo and the amount of pressure as she pumps her fist along the hot, silky skin of his cock. Killian hisses, sucking in deep breaths while she lovingly tortures him. She takes advantage of his offered throat to suck and nip at his vulnerable spots. "You seem flustered, Captain. Almost distracted, one might say… Care to share what's on your mind?"

It's the low, sultry quality of her tone that finally makes him reach his breaking point. He growls at her, wrapping his hand over the one that's gripping his cock, and together the guide him to her entrance; he thrusts himself back into her still slick warmth and finds himself in heaven. Emma cries out, unable or unwilling to be quiet any longer. He's deliberate and methodical this time; unridden by magic, he recalls to mind every trick he's ever learned and all the knowledge he's acquired about _her_ body. His pace remains unhurried, each pump of his hips perfectly timed, every withdrawal executed with a calculated slowness that has her panting and restless. He gives her just enough to keep her on edge and wanting. Emma slides her hands over his chest and shoulders up into his hair, dragging her nails lightly along his scalp. She knows that he loves it when she does this and that it usually causes him to return the favor; but since he's currently holding her body up with his hands, he won't be able to. A fact which certainly will drive him to distraction, just as she intends it to. He mutters a curse as a particular pleasant sensation rolls through his body with the contact, causing his rhythm to falter. He has no bloody clue why, but the scratch of her nails as she runs her fingers through his hair always has this insane sensual effect on him. However, it does encourage him to pick up his speed a little, makes each thrust end with the audible slap of his skin to hers and a roll of his hips.

"Killian!" He smirks and hums his satisfaction at getting her to break, to say his name so that it sounds like a question, an exclamation, and a prayer all at once; nothing in the world exists in this moment except for her and the pleasure he can lavish on her.

"Every single light bulb is out! I don't think we have enough—what the hell? What are you two—this is my office!"

"It's a bloody broom closet, dwarf! Now get the fuck out! Don't have time to explain what we're doing if you haven't yet figured out how!"

"Leroy?! Oh, Jesus!"

"Hey! That's my niece and god-daughter you're carrying on with, pirate! You may have Snow and Charming fooled, but-"

"Get out, Leroy!" The door closes behind him not a second too soon, and Emma hides her face in her lover's shoulder, thoroughly embarrassed, mortified really. She looks so absolutely adorable that he can't stop his body's shaking, valiantly attempting to hold back his laughter.

"Killian Jones! So help me, this is not a good time to be laughing!"

He tips her head up and kisses her chin, unable to stop now that the laughter is welling out.

"I've always known that red was your color, love. Do you know, I believe that lovely blush of yours just might spread all the way down to your-" Clearly unable to intimidate him in this moment, she shuts him up the best way she knows how. With a kiss.


	8. Something Wicked

"_Come on, Mom! Pleeeeease! It'll be fun!"_

Honestly, when he said it like that, she and Killian looked at each other and knew that there was just no way to say no to Henry. It was the first thing he's been excited about since Neverland, and since Ruby and Granny were essentially throwing the party _for_ him… In all honesty, Halloween had been one of her favorite holidays as a kid, the power of make-believe fueled by massive amounts of sugary treats was something even the bleak settings of foster homes and orphanages couldn't suppress. These days she was just fine being Emma Swan, thank you very much, but denying her son a bit of harmless fun just seemed wrong.

Killian had also seemed taken with the idea, asking Henry what types of characters people dressed up as and what the various traditions were all about. They'd been so absorbed with their conversation that they hadn't noticed when Ruby stopped by the booth. "So, what are you planning on going as, Emma?"

"I hadn't thought about it until just now, actually. Did you guys even have Halloween back there?" Since coming back, she'd shied away from referring to the Enchanted Forest directly. Almost as if she was afraid to bring it up in any conversation; it was always _back there_.

"Something like it to celebrate getting in the harvest. And if you were noble or gentry, there would be the occasional masquerade ball. But if you need ideas, the best costumes are all at Fortune's Favors." The she-wolf grinned mischievously and winked before sauntering off to check on her other tables. Emma tried to hide her own smirk, shifting her attention back to her boys, who were still talking about various costume ideas.

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The great thing about a fortune-telling gypsy who runs a sex shop, especially one who already knows your measurements, is that you don't even have to tell her what you're looking for. The second Emma had walked in, Esmeralda had just smiled and handed her a bag with the perfect costume inside. Henry had actually given her the idea when he suggested that Killian be a police officer; she only thought it fitting that if he pretended to take her job for the evening that she should take his.

The black satin skirt would hit just above her knees, except for the fact that it has big layers of puffy crinoline that make it stand out and shorten it. Significantly. Thankfully, Esmeralda had already been working on a black leather corset with panels of jade silk brocade for her, so she chooses to wear it for the first time as part of her costume. It's the little touches that really complete it though—an ivory peasant top that falls off her shoulders just a touch, the over-the-knee black suede boots, the thigh sheath for her dagger that she puts on over the fishnet stockings, the gold hoop earrings, some clunky rings, and the magic compass that she attaches to her black leather belt along with her sword and scabbard. Somehow, she doubts anyone at the party will mistake her for anything other than a sexy pirate.

"Lass! Come on! Regina picked up Henry almost half-an-hour ago. Aren't you ready yet?" Killian had been very loudly, very obviously pacing from the moment he'd arrived, curious as to what her costume was going to be. She could hear that he was on the stairs, even though she'd expressly forbidden him from stepping even one foot on them. With a last look in the mirror, she grabs her long coat and slips it on.

"You're so bossy and impatient! But I have to admit that you do look good in uniform." It's not a real outfit, and certainly not even close to the sheriff's uniform that Graham tried to talk her into wear once upon a time; however, she can't deny that the light blue oxford shirt, navy slacks, and aviator glasses are certainly his style. He looks her over, seemingly disappointed.

"Well? Is that it?"

"My costume? Oh, no! I am not walking out into the freezing Maine night in October without my coat! You'll just have to wait and see it at the party."

He grumbles under his breath a bit, but then takes her hand as they are walking down the stairs. It's one of the things that they've compromised on—open displays of affection; she prays she'll _never_ get as comfortable as Snow and David are with their PDA, however, holding hands in front of their family and friends isn't quite as intimidating or terrifying as it was at first. And walking through town without her fingers freezing is a pretty nice perk. When they get to the diner, the patio area has a few of the rowdier kids' games and an apple-bobbing bucket that looks only a few degrees north of freezing. But the inside is festively decorated with candles glowing from pumpkins carved for the occasion, lights dimmed for effect, and lots of cotton-ball cobwebs with plastic spiders. She doesn't see her parents, but thankfully she and Killian aren't the only adults who have come in costume. Emma laughs hysterically, but just waves the people who are staring off, when she sees Ruby in a sexed-up Bride of Frankenstein outfit.

However, she waits until she has her friend's attention before shedding her coat and setting it down in the booth she and Killian had staked out as theirs earlier. Ruby's grin is positively wicked, but Emma's focus quickly shifts to the person for whom the outfit was intended. What's truly hilarious is that not only has his jaw literally dropped, but he's barely pulled the aviator sunglasses down his nose, ogling her from over the rims. She whips the scarf off her neck and ties it into a bandana to complete the look before turning around in a circle for his inspection. "Well, you did once say I'd make a hell of pirate… What do you think, Officer Jones?"

"That there bloody well isn't enough fabric to that costume, but gods you are stunning, lass!"

"Hey, eyes up here, buddy. And that's Captain to you! For tonight anyway." She does her best impersonation of him, even lifting her eyebrow a bit and invading his personal space. He laughs, ushering her into their booth and ordering pumpkin hot cocoas for them and the as yet absent Henry and the Charmings. But it isn't too long before their playful flirting gets the better of them. It's when he reminds her that he used to be an officer in a navy before becoming a pirate captain that she just can't resist the quip that gets them in trouble. "Well no wonder you can pull off the cop outfit. You learned how to act like you have a stick up your ass from best! If I didn't know any better, I'd think that your lass at home wasn't doing her job properly."

Killian merely smirks at her, otherwise completely unruffled by her insinuations and teasing. He stands up from the booth, then leans down toward her, lips barely brushing the loose curls that had fallen around her ear. "Is that a challenge, Captain? Are you questioning my…dedication to the time honored arts of plundering and pillaging? Meet me in the men's washroom in exactly one minute, Miss Swan. I find myself determined to prove you wrong."

It takes her all of two seconds to completely forget about the fact that they are surrounded by people, in the middle of a Halloween party. But she mentally counts to forty-five before standing up and following him, so that their leaving the main room of the diner isn't immediately connected in the minds of the other guests. She checks to see if anyone else noticed, but everyone seems to be focused on talking, laughing, or playing games. It takes her less than her planned fifteen seconds to walk to the back, but she still doesn't even get a chance to knock. He opens the door, grabs her wrist, and pulls her into his body. He spins her around and uses their momentum and her body to shut the door; he rubs his nose along hers while his left hand skims along her side gently and engages the lock. He captures her lips with his and sweeps his tongue inside her mouth, plundering and invading. It's one of the things she loves most about being with Killian Jones—the way he kisses—like she's a delectable treat, something to be consumed completely, whether you're in the mood to devour or to savor. And clearly, the man is starved for her.

"Mmm… Maybe I should play dress-up for you a little more often. Especially if this is the response I get." He starts nibbling and nipping along her jaw, teasing the soft, vulnerable skin where face and throat meet. Emma's hands slip along his waist, grabbing his ass and grinding her hips into his so she can feel his erection pressing into her belly. A growl rises up out of his chest and vibrates along her skin perfectly. She lets go of him, but only so she can work on his belt buckle and the button and fly of his slacks. Then she untucks and pulls up his shirt so her hands can caress a path of seduction along his well-defined abs. Then next sound he makes is a strangled moan as she continues with her not so innocent touches to his stomach and the waistline of his boxers. He grips her waist and brings her flush against him, spinning them around until her ass hits the sink counter. She tilts her hips up to increase the friction as she rubs up against him, practically offering herself to him, begging for his touch.

Emma slides her hands up his chest, carefully and quickly unbuttoning the crisply starched shirt before flicking both sides open, eager to have his naked skin against hers. She leans back, biting her lower lip and watching his hands run along the fishnets, tracing the tops of the thigh highs and reaching for her panties. While he slips them all the way off, she pulls her blouse and corset down, enough to free her breasts without needing to relace. He kisses each nipple before sucking the left one into his mouth, thrusting two fingers inside her at the same time; Emma can feel him smirking as he tugs hard with his teeth and then slowly licks the bud of flesh. She tugs on his hair, mewling in the back of her throat to stop teasing her. He complies, mouth searching hungrily for hers as he lines himself at her entrance. Killian moans when the tip of his cock parts her already wet pussy and sinks in the first inch. She's always so ready for him, so eager and welcoming, practically begging him to fuck or make love to her whenever an opportunity presents itself. He lifts her right leg, wrapping it around his waist as he pushes all the way inside her.

She whimpers at his first thrust, drowning the sound in the hot, needy way she's kissing him. He pumps his hips in a bruising, punishing rhythm, but his tongue and teeth and lips are persuasively gentle, while his thumb dances in slow, lazy circles between her thighs. It's the contrast of gentle and soft, the confusion of what's happening to her body that have her pussy getting even wetter, preparing for release. Their panting is quiet, breaths wafting hot and urgent across the other's cheek. She leans back, pressing her forehead against his, eyes only half open as she watches his hard length disappear into her body. He grabs a fistful of her hair, twisting and pulling just the way she likes it. "I love it when you watch me fucking you, Emma. My little voyeur, see anything you want?"

"God yes!"

She's so close, but she listens for the quiet keening sound he makes, deep in the back of his throat that tells her she'll be able to take him over the edge with her. When he makes it, she works her inner muscles, milking him hard and thrusting her hips to increase the pressure of his thumb. Killian nudges her nose with his, angling for another hot, passionate kiss. She mewls and bites down on his lower lips when she comes, throwing her head back as sparks of pleasure flicker down her body like lightning strikes. Her orgasm brings his, white light bursting behind his eyes as he comes inside her. No barriers, no fears between them. He pounds into her a few more times, pulling whimpers from her throat as he prolongs her torment and pleasure. Emma shivers when he finally pulls back and starts fixing their clothes. Suddenly, returning to the party sounds like the worst idea in the world, but going back to the loft is getting more appealing by the second. Instead of leaving her satisfied and deliciously lethargic, she's even more keyed up than ever.

"Gods, love! Don't take this the wrong way, but do you ever think this will stop? You're all I ever think about; I spend my days wanting you and thinking about when I'll see you again. But then when I'm with you, it's never enough—I always want you more, love you more." She presses a finger to his lips.

"I know what you mean. I love you too, Killian, and I hope it never does stop." She can see light and happiness fill his eyes and knows that she's said exactly the right thing. The power of what they feel scares them, but living life without the other is no longer an option. So, instead of doing what they do best and start running, they go off and face their family and friends the way they do everything now. Together.


End file.
